


The Chit

by Anjanas



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Forced Marriage, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Marriage Law Challenge, Past Torture, schemes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 31,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25036915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anjanas/pseuds/Anjanas
Summary: Severus Snape is getting tired of eeking out a life between Voldemort's plots and Dumbledore's plans.  When he walks in on Granger making a list, clearly upset, he knows that something has clearly gone wrong - but can he save her from being collateral damage in Voldemort's latest attempt to control Harry?Marriage Law, Snamione.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Comments: 45
Kudos: 226





	1. The Times They Are A'Changing

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first ever fic, so please be kind! Imported from ff.net

The Chit was staring at a piece of parchment on her lap. She hadn’t reacted when he’d entered the lab, hadn’t raised her head and done her usual half-smile. She wasn’t working on a potion or checking the inventory. It was enough to make a man worry.

Severus was in no mood to add to his worries. The Dark Lord had been rather… jubilant last night. He’d been allowed to leave his Lord around 3am, and unfortunately Dumbledore had rules in place. Immediately report, were the rules - unless Severus first stopped off to pick up a Pain Relief potion. So, with a sigh, he’d turned his feet towards the Headmaster’s offices. There, with only a cup of tea to console him, he’d explained his concerns and suspicions. By the time they’d done working through the various scenarios it was 8am and he gave up on the idea of sleep. May as well get some brewing done.

His mind was still very much wrapped up in the Headmaster’s theories as he stared at the Chit. Her hand was shaking and… was she chewing her fingernails? Disgusting.

He felt his anger wash over him. How dare she put her worries in front of the work they had before them? How dare she pick today, of all days, to slack off?

“Miss Granger!” He snapped, banging a cauldron onto the wooden desk. She blinked, but didn’t jump.

“Oh, Professor.” 

Her voice was weak and tired and he suddenly realised that she was wearing the same robes today as she had been yesterday. Worry crystalised in his gut, shards that dug into the soft lining of his stomach.

“What is it, Granger?”

She didn’t look up from her lap even as she brandished the parchment towards him. A flick of his wrist and the letter sailed across the room, rustling as it came to a stop in his palm.

The parchment was heavy and almost black with ink, small, fine letters scrawled all over it. “MINISTRY NOTICE: DO NOT IGNORE” was repeated in red ink at the top of every page. He heard the Chit whimper as his eyes scanned the rest of the letter, a frown growing between his brows. This was… an unexpected development. Severus’ lack of sleep was catching up to him.

“Granger, you can take the rest of the day off.” He snapped, remembering that she was still in the room. She made an odd, strangled noise, but didn’t move a muscle. She practically vibrated with fear. “Miss Granger.” He repeated, slowly, keeping his voice deliberately soft and gentle. “You are free to go back to your rooms.”

“Please, sir. I’d much rather stay here with you. We still have 50 more healing potions to make before we’ve even reached halfway to Madam Pomfrey’s needs.”

He ran his fingers through his hair, shifting the fringe away from his face, and studied her. All the blood had drained from her face and her hands were still shaking, the fingers tapping together with the force of her fear.

“Get started then. I will return in a moment.” He scowled at her, suddenly impatient. Severus had thought himself in the Dark Lord’s inner circle, and yet it was clear that this had been deliberately kept from him. Could it be a test of his loyalties? His stomach cramped again, urgent and sharp.

He stalked out of the dingy basement, the cloak he hadn’t bothered to take off billowing in his wake, and took the steps two at a time into the light of the hallway, throwing open the library door with a bang. Damnit. He hadn’t seen this one coming at all.

“Albus.” He growled, flinging Floo powder into the flames. “I hope you’re up.”

..

Albus had indeed been up. He’d taken the parchment with trembling hands and studied the words cramped on it, the fine details of the new law taking up almost every spare inch of paper as though the Ministry were under another Extreme Budget Cutting Initiative. “This is terrible.” Albus growned, stroking his beard pensively.

Severus refrained from snapping at him, his anger fraying under the Headmaster’s ridiculous penchant for stating the bleeding obvious.

Albus’ eyes had turned milky as he stared over Severus’ head at the silent portraits of former Heads. “The poor students… What can we do?”

Severus took a sip of his tea rather than replying, knowing that the question was rhetorical.

The fire crackled, throwing the room into emerald relief before Minerva stalked through a second later. Her tired eyes pinched behind her spectacles as she scanned the room, taking in the way Severus sat cradling the cup of black tea, Albus’ expression, Fawkes desolate frame with wings dropping.

“I see you’ve already heard the news, Albus.” She tilted her head towards the letter, her words brisk and ordered. “We’ve got to do something. They are too young to be sullied by the ministry in this way.”

“Sullied?” Severus asked, laconically. Her choice of words felt deliberate somehow, anxious.

“Yes, sullied.” She snapped back. “It may be above your notice, but marriage comes with certain demands. Demands which may hurt our students.” She flicked a long, sharp finger before his nose. “We have no guarantees that whomever the ministry picks will be understanding of their age or inexperience.”

He must have been more tired than he thought, Severus admitted to himself glumly. Her words slotted into place: the reason the Chit didn’t want to move out of his office, the reason she’d been shaking and white suddenly thrown into sharp relief by Minerva’s words.

“I don’t see what the problem is.” Severus tried again. “We will simply sort out some matches ahead of time that will protect the students, and in the meantime fight the Ministry tooth and nail.”

The two Gryffindors ignored him; one pacing up and down before the fireplace, her fingers clasped before her chest, and the other sitting behind his desk, arms crossed, lips pressed together tightly.

Severus had no idea what the Ministry were playing at - what exactly the Dark Lord’s game was. Forcing all Mudbloods to marry those ‘with a more secure footing in the Wizarding World’ would certainly mean they could keep better tabs on them, but it would also dilute the blood pool. Why would the Dark Lord be encouraging that? He frowned and rubbed his forehead. Something wasn’t adding up here.

Dumbledore knocked his fists against the wooden desk, startling Minerva. “We must protect Harry.”

“Harry is a half-blood.” Severus felt obligated to point out. “Perhaps he will be excused.”

“He is without a proper mentor.” Dumbledore pointed out, his eyes flashing at Severus with poorly hidden condemnation. “Both Harry’s parents are dead. His godfather is dead. This -” He brandished the letter towards Severus - “applies to him.”

“And what of the others?” Severus felt curiously protective of how very unnerved Granger was, hugging her arms around herself in the little laboratory at Grimmauld, too scared to go back to her rooms. “Harry isn’t even a student of Hogwarts anymore. None of them are. They are adults.”

“Most of your slytherins are safe.” Dumbledore replied, taking his spectacles lower down his nose and cutting his other hand through the air dismissively. “As that house is mostly from good wizarding families, they will be able to see to their own.” He turned to McGonagall. “Didn’t he have a fancy for Ginny? Putting those two together would mean he could claim the Weasley’s as his family.”

Severus sighed. Once again, the Boy Who Lived was always the first consideration. The Chit had been so nervous she’d been shaking. He probably shouldn’t have allowed her to stay in the cellar; with her hands so unsteady she was more than likely going to blow herself up, and then he would have to clean up the pieces.

“If you will excuse me, I should get back.” He pulled himself to his feet wearily, feeling his bones crack and joints complain.

They nodded to him, still thinking through the possible ramifications of their decision to join two children in matrimony. “Perhaps,” Dumbledore said slowly, “someone more adult could be persuaded to marry the boy. It would remove the emotions from the equation, mean he doesn’t get as hurt.”

Severus took a pinch of the school’s Floo powder back to Grimmauld’s library, contemplating the bizarre inner workings of man. The Headmaster knew nothing about empathy, seemed to be able to turn on and off his concern like a lightbulb. Severus ignored the wry twisting of lips as he pondered the irony of thinking that about another person given his own less than stellar reputation. He ran quick fingers through his stumble and turned his feet downstairs towards the lab.


	2. Obviously Unacceptable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione's list making skills come in handy

The chit was still in the dungeons when Severus stalked back in. He was so damned tired he could barely think, but he knew he needed to finish up at least ten potions today or else they’d never get done in time. She was humming distractedly, two quills in various parts of her bushy hair and another laying on the pages of a journal. Severus stopped moving, staring in disbelief as the chit managed four cauldrons simultaneously.

He hung back to watch, and nodded. She had talent, this one. Most of his students would manage to melt a cauldron even if it were the only one they were working on.

As Severus watched, her eyes seemed to brighten and she moved away from one cauldron to the book, scrawled something in it, and then back. She moved between the cauldrons as though she were a conductor, stirring them, checking their consistency and colour, correcting small differences in temperature.

He realised with a start that she was only eighteen, operating at a skill far above her level. He should get her an apprenticeship, or else teach the girl himself. After the war, of course. If she survived. If he did.

Feeling the weight of the morning gripping his forehead with a vice he willed himself forwards.

“Professor!” She greeted him, this time her eyes brighter. “Did you have any luck figuring out how to fight this?”

He shook his head and held her letter back to her. “I’m sorry, Miss Granger. The Headmaster is researching options as we speak, but nothing came to mind straight away.” He thought back to Dumbledore’s office and shook his head to dislodge the anger growing there. No doubt the chit had endless faith in the Headmaster to work it all out, to save them all.

“I thought as much might happen, so I’ve been working on a list of possible matches.” She nodded her head towards the journal on the potions bench. Severus raised an eyebrow. Apparently she did not trust the Headmaster to save them, and he felt suddenly a little off kilter that he hadn’t known her as well as he had thought he had.

How else, after all, would she have solved his puzzle in the first year, if not by pure logic. And logic dictated that she would be best served by working through a list of potential matches.

Severus walked over to the journal and read from its pages. “Matches.” read the right page. On the left, the title was “Obviously Unacceptable”. He ignored the flush of anger that came from seeing his own name at the top of that list, and turned his eyes back to those the girl deemed acceptable.

Harry and Ron made sense, of course. Next to each name there was a sentence or two in a tiny hand detailing why they made sense. He glanced at her, where she was looking down into a cauldron and nibbling on her lower lip, and felt his surprise stir again. What had the hat been thinking, sorting her into Gryffindor? He expected such a list from a Ravenclaw.

The list continued. Viktor Krum, the whole set of unmarried Weasley boys, Neville Longbottom… He sighed. Perhaps the chit was too unemotional about this. He couldn’t imagine how much her mind would twist and turn under Neville as the head of the family. Imagine marrying George, with his inability to take anything seriously.

He didn’t have time for this, not today. Brew the remaining six potions, plus a headache remedy, and then go to bed and catch up on sleep. He hadn’t intended to waste the day in bed, but since Hermione’s revelation he’d felt less than useless. Severus hadn’t even been able to find a hint of the coming revelation, not even with the benefit of hindsight. He felt an utter failure. 

The burn salves that Hermione was watching over simmered gently, and one began to pearl. Despite himself, Severus smiled. At least he wasn’t alone this morning, at least he had the somewhat cheery company of the Chit to keep him from self-loathing.

He picked up the heavy pewter cauldrons from the pile in the corner of the room and began to line them up on the workbench at the back of the room. The feel of them, smooth and solid and tearing a little at his muscles, reassured him. This was where he belonged, in the lab, working in silence to create and experiment and improve. He was doing his bit to save the world.

A flash of anger hit him. He had also endangered it after all. It was his job to fix that.

His mistakes had been of oversharing. He had been unable to keep his mouth shut, spilling his secrets to the first open ear. Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Granger’s journel, and the self-loathing snowballed into anger. Before knew what he was doing, he hissed, “Miss Granger.”

She jumped, spilling a little of the orange Burn Salve onto the bench from the beaker she had just filled.

“Yes, Professor?” She asked, carefully closing the vial and adding it to the chest by the door.

“Just how many of your plans and secrets are in this scratty journal?” He brandished a hand back towards her, and she winced. “What would happen if, say, an agent of the Dark Lord found it?”

The chit paled, and bit her lip. “Sir, I… I didn’t think anyone would ever -”

“That is the problem with you children, you never think.” Her eyes flicked towards the book and back to his own. Severus’ heart clenched with guilt at the sadness in them, chasing away the anger. “Just… charm it, Miss Granger. And finish bottling and get out of my lab.”

“Charm it, sir?” she asked, her voice wavering.

He stalked over to her and pointed his wand straight at the book. He noticed the tension that flowed through her body, but she didn’t move to stop him. Such self control.

“I will bind it to you.” He explained, proud htat his voice didn’t slur despite the tiredness aching in his bones. “Only you, or I, will be able to read the notes it contains. To everyone else, it will look like a book of recipes for chocolate brownies mixed in with notes on History of Magic.”

He cast the spell. His magic shivered against his skin like a cool breeze, and he felt it wrap around the chit, coaxing her magic to join his. It took a few moments for her magic to respond, and when it did it felt warm, alive. It swirled around them, whipping their clothes to wrap tightly around their legs and rustling the pages of the notebook. Finally, it coalesced inside the diary, slamming the cover shut. The journal would always be a little cool to the touch, now. A good reminder to learn to keep secrets not written down.

“Sir?” She returned to her bottling. She had angled her shoulders away from him, as though to avoid catching his eye. He was unsurprised.

“Yes, Miss Granger?” If she asked him anything about why the magic was cold or how to create such a spell or why he hadn’t let her go and research it himself he wasn’t sure he could be trusted to refrain from banishing her from the lab altogether. A man needed some measure of peace and quiet.

“What if I need to show someone a page of the journal?”

“Simply place some of your blood upon the page you wish to show them and say ‘revelare’. It should reveal that page for as long as the blood is wet.”

“Thank you, sir.” She scooped the last of the burn salve away. “Do you want me to wash these cauldrons, sir?”

He felt a wave of exhaustion swell through his bones. His knee ached. His head pounded.

“No, Miss Granger. Just… get out.”

She nodded, clutched the book to her chest, and ran up the stairs.

Severus pinched the top of his nose. “Obviously Unacceptable.” He repeated, with a twitch of his lips. “Ain’t that the truth.”


	3. The Obvious Choice

The door slammed open, bounced off the basement wall, and back to Hermione’s face. Severus looked up, confused, as Hermione slammed it against the wall twice more. She had tear tracks shining in the afternoon sunlight as she stood at the top of the stairs. Her face was getting more and more red as she punished the door.

Finally, she walked down two steps and slammed it shut. It bounced neatly out of the door frame, but this time instead of continuing to abuse the poor piece of wood - and his ears - she sighed, pressed her forehead against it, and walked forward until it shut.

Severus waited a few moments, turning his attention back to the mandrake leaves he was carefully slicing into regular chunks. The girl did not move, her breathing echoing down the stairwell and into the potions lab he’d built.

“Miss Granger,” Severus said, as gently as he could. She jumped and squealed. Severus sighed. Sometimes working with the chit was more exhausting than producing the entire order himself, even if he knew McGonagall had been wise to suggest the girl help him. After all, he could be called away at any moment, and the infirmary would still need supplies. Better a worthy second could be found to take over, if need be. “Are you quite alright?”

“Fine.” She bit out. She marched down the stairs, avoiding his gaze, and rubbed the sleeve of her jumper across her cheeks. He pretended not to notice that she was clearly not alright as she pulled a mortar and pestle across the desk, scraping it along the wooden surface.

The sound of her beetle carapaces clattering into the stone mortar seemed to highlight rather than disguise the silence, and he felt his eyes constantly flicking over to her at every moment it was safe to do so. She began pulverising the beetles.

He waited a few moments, common sense warring with the need to not waste ingredients. The frugal side won.

“Miss Granger,” He repeated, his voice silky and even. “I don’t believe these beetles have done anything to offend you, so I ask that you reduce the force with which you mash them to one which will not mean they are unfit for use in this Pepperup.”

The girl’s face flushed a bright red. “Sorry, sir.” she said, releasing her hold on the pestle.

Silence gained the room once again, but Severus did not return to his work. After a moment, she began tapping the desk in an angry, forceful pattern.

“What is on your mind, woman?” He asked finally. He suspected he could get no work done at this rate.

A bubble in one of the corner potions noisily rose to the top. Hermione studied him for a moment and then suddenly the calm of his lab was destroyed.

“How dare he?” She asked, her voice suspiciously close to a whine. Severus chose to stay quiet for now, gathering facts. “How dare he?” She took a deep breath and smoothed her hair away from her face. “I asked Ron to marry me.” She continued. “Because of the law. I thought that… well, I know he’s fancied me for a few years now, and I thought it would keep me safe.”

She stopped talking as her eyes began to gleam suspiciously in reflected firelight, and clenched them shut.

“And he declined?” Severus asked mildly, moving his sliced leaves to the side and picking up his knife again to begin slicing a fresh one.

Hermione made curious noise, a mix of a wail and a laugh.

“No, he accepted that it was a sensible option. He said that as he would be receiving a few such requests in the near future: he wanted to wait a few weeks, make sure that he was making the best choice for him.” Hermione’s eyes opened and Severus was disconcerted to see a hint of wildness in them. He feared for the boy. A woman scorned and all that. “I actually could understand that. Even if I think it sucks. We were friends, surely he’d want to protect me?”

Another jagged breath forced itself out of Hermione. “So I left him and went to the library.”

Severus was quite surprised at how magnanimously she had accepted being left hanging while Ronald covered all his bases. After all, the witch was frighteningly clever and clearly important to the cause - even if her safety were put aside, it would hardly be a chore to be married to one so clearly passionate and intelligent. He made a mental note to speak with Minerva about the chit’s self esteem.

“He came to find me there about an hour later. He still had breakfast tomato ketchup on his shirt, for God’s sake.” Severus raised an eyebrow but said nothing. He was unable to keep a small smirk from his mouth at her disgust.

“He’d thought about it. He was waving this letter about as he spoke to me. He gave me a list of demands.” Her voice raised in both pitch and volume as she continued talking, her left hand once again gripping the pestle. Severus kept an eye on that, too, as her knuckles whitened around it. “He would allow me to continue my work for the order until the end of the war, although he clearly thought I added little. Condescending prat. He would then require that I took some time before starting my career to start a family. He would like us to live at the burrow, to keep his mother company, and because she would be a great help to me when I was pregnant. He also handed me a leaflet with the training menu used for the Chudley Cannons, and said that I was expected to help him keep to that.”

Hermione exhaled, a long and forceful breath. Severus thought that her hair became somehow less blue as her shoulders slumped.

“When I asked him where all this was coming from, he said that a good wife would be able to provide these things for him. That it was his right as the head of the family, or some hogwash. So I asked him what the letter was.” Her lips pursed, and that one small gesture caused an awareness to wash over him of just how attractive she could be, even heightened in anger. He immediately blocked that thought, trying to concentrate on what she was saying. If the Weasley boy and Miss Granger were on the outs, it would be important to Dumbledore, might affect their training for the war.

“It was a letter from Lavender Brown, detailing all the ways that she and he would be perfect together.” Hermione finally raised her eyes and stared into his. “She was willing to follow him around the world while he improved his Quidditch, she would have as many children as he wanted… That was as far as I’d read before he snatched the letter away from me.”

She bit her lip.

“He must have written to her the minute I left the room.” The tears she’d valiantly tried to ignore finally fell free. She didn’t bother to wipe at them.

“Miss Brown is a pureblood.” Severus frowned, feeling as though his mind was suddenly wrapped in fog. “Why would she wish to marry Ronald? Neither of them are under any obligation from the Ministry.” 

Hermione smiled, but it was a wan, twisted thing. “That’s just it. I think they want to marry each other before they’re forced to marry anyone else. I guess it makes sense, she is much prettier than I am, and cares much more about the family life, you know? I know she wants to start a beauty products newsletter, but it is the sort of thing you can work on at home while the children are growing, at least while it’s in its earlier stages.”

The cauldron fire crackled. Neither of them spoke for a few moments, before Severus asked. “And you, Miss Granger? What do you want?”

“Once the war is over, and assuming we win, you mean?” Hermione asked. Severus nodded.

“Not that.” Her smile grew a little less bitter. “I want to become an Unspeakable, or some form of researcher for the Ministry. Maybe a healer. The sort of job that requires more from you than a 9-to-5, and... I’m not even sure I want children at all. It’s not that they aren’t cute, it’s just… I wouldn’t know what to do with one. And it would complicate everything…” She shrugged.

“So then Mr Weasley was completely the wrong fit for your desires.” Severus reassured her. “You haven’t lost out on much.” Because the boy was an idiot, clearly.

“No, I suppose not.” She huffed. “But it would have been a lot easier to not still be worried about the sort of man the Ministry will decide on for me.” She quickly captured her hair up into a bun.

“Remember, Miss Granger. The choice of partner you marry will have lasting repercussions. You will be wed to him or her not just until the end of the war, but for many decades afterwards. You should have a shared vision for your future, similar desires. You must be able to live with and work besides that person for day after day, years on end, without once getting sick of the way they chew or their morning breath. For example, I believe you would get sick of telling Ronald to clean his clothes after breakfast within the first year, if not the first month.”

The smirk grew as he heard Miss Granger’s happy huff. “I’ve been doing it for 6 years, sir. I suppose another 60 wouldn’t have killed me. But... you’re right, we wouldn’t have been happy together.” 

His voice turned sadly serious. “You would have grown to resent one another. You would constantly wonder how much further your career and research could have grown, had you had a more supportive husband, while he would have found the lack of support at home limited his fun and forced him to grow up far too quickly. He would have resented you, too.”

He captured her eyes with his, willing her to feel his sincerity, and damping down on the temptation to read her thoughts. “It was a good thought, Miss Granger, with the information you had at the time. Now, with this new information, you can make better choices.”

Severus returned his gaze back to the slicing, sensing that the danger had passed - although what the danger had been, he was uncertain of. They worked in silence for an hour or so, carefully preparing ingredients for the brewing he had scheduled for today. It was a slightly experimental version of Pepperup he’d thought up while forced to endure the Winter Ball - and the entire teaching staff’s snuffling - last year, and acted more as preventative than cure. If it worked.

She waited until he put down his knife before catching his eye and offering him a tight smile. He followed the curve of her lips greedily. 

“Thank you.”

Severus Snape dropped his head down, allowing his hair to curtain his face. It wouldn’t do for Miss Granger to see him blush.

\---  
Ron Weasley: Good friends. Know him. Has liked me for a while. Had a crush on him when younger - could get it back? Loyal. Logical. Cons: Large family. Eats with his mouth open. Jealous.


	4. Two Birds, One Stone

Severus hated these things. Cramped into the library at Grimmauld Place, the Members shuffled about, murmuring greetings to their fellow conspirators. Touching each other as though to reassure themselves that yes, their friend still lived and breathed.

He wondered whether they’d ever realise just how exclusionary they all were. Not only were they a secret society, fighting now against the government and an armed militia, recruiting only their bosom buddies - but they were also actively ignoring him. Nobody cared if he died, as long as he managed to report to Dumbledore before he kicked the bucket. Reluctant allies, keeping themselves out of danger while he did the dirty work; every friendly touch solidified that strange border between them.

The fire crackled in the grate, casting long shadows over the assembled room. The theatrics disgusted him. The reports bored him. Perhaps he was on the wrong side after all. At least he never feared falling asleep in the Dark Lord’s meetings, which while dull flirted with more obvious mortal peril.

Severus had no doubt that Dumbledore would murder him if it became necessary, although he wouldn’t raise his own wand to do it. Oh, no. He would send him out, letting others do the dirty work - and would Severus meekly let him?

He shook his head fiercely, fighting to dislodge the thoughts. This macabre mood always settled over him like a cloak whenever he was in Grimmauld proper - the basements excluded, of course. So much wasted talent overlayed with dust, coating books and portraits and the little golden clock on the bannister. So much wasted time.

“Right!” Dumbledore cheerfully clapped his hands. “Let us begin plotting! As you all know, as it is now the front page of every newspaper, the Ministry has asked all youths to marry into proper wizarding families.” His face turned somber. “Severus and I believe that this is a way to entrap Harry into marriage with some undesirable pureblood - a sympathiser, probably, of Voldemort, if not an outright Death Eater.”

Severus tensed, as he always did, before remembering that Grimmauld was a safe place. You could say His name here without the Dark Mark triggering.

Severus hated His name, hated the way it pulsed out of lips like a curse, ugly and bloody. He barely allowed himself to say it.

Minerva stood, her lips pursing. “We must do everything within our power to prevent this happening. There are several unmarried witches and wizards working within the Order that are not required to marry under this… law.” Her hands clenched and unclenched in fury as she talked, spitting out the words. “We would ask that you all be willing to assist us. Harry is not the only young person placed in danger by this law, and Order members are invaluable. If you are unwilling to be placed in the list, please see myself or Dumbledore afterwards.”

Severus sneered. If the Light were pursuing forced marriage of what were essentially children to grown fighters, then he may as well give up now. Perhaps he could start a new Order. Order of the Common Sense. Twilight Order. Order of the Embers.

His train of thought was interrupted by Dumbledore striding towards the door and throwing it open. There stood the Golden Trio, Hermione looking determined, Ronald stupid - but then, the boy always looked stupid - and Harry, nervous. They were studiously not looking at one another, and Hermione and Ron were stiff as boards.

Severus’ eyes closed. He could feel the stress headache from this morning coming back full-force, despite his short nap. He pinched the bridge of his nose, willing Dumbledore to order them to go away and finish up the meeting so that he might sleep.

Instead, Dumbledore’s violet robe sleeve swept an arm towards the room, beckoning them in. Ronald gulped. Hermione walked in primly and perched on a table towards the fire, her notebook clenched to her chest. Harry slunk after her, all short-lived bravery and fierce self-righteousness. The third of their trio, the Weasley, hovered at the edge of the doorway, looking for all the world like he'd rather book it than follow his friends. It was only when his mother grasped hold of his arm and yanked him inside that he crossed the threshold.

“These three youngsters were listening in at our door!” Dumbledore told the assembled, spreading his arms wide. “But, they are of an age now to join us. Tell me, why were you hovering about out there?” His eyes softened as he studied Harry, and Severus fought the urge to roll his. He doubted very much the boy would even be here if not for the more studious member of the Trio. The one who - again or still - had a quill buried deep in her bushy hair, and who was nervously tapping on the cover of her notebook, her eyes fixed on Dumbledore.

When Harry failed to respond, gawping awkwardly into the Headmaster's face, Hermione took over. “We wanted to propose a solution for the Matrimony Problem.”

A glint returned to Dumbledore’s eyes. “Ah, yes?”

Minerva smiled encouragingly at the Chit when she failed to continue, and Hermione took a deep breath and turned to face the room. She was clearly unused to the weight of so much focused attention - she tugged at her sleeve a few times without speaking, her eyes searching through the crowd.

And then her eyes met Severus'. He took a deep breath, feeling the stifling air of too-crowded a room fill his lungs, and she copied him. He tried to channel the confidence he usually pretended to feel through their connection, to lend a hand. If he hadn't thought it would rather undo Dumbledore's point about their being all grown-up now, Severus might - _might_ \- have voiced support.

For one long moment Severus wondered if it would be enough, but the Chit took another long, deep breath and began to speak.

“I believe that I should marry Harry.” The words fell like skipping stones into that expectant silence. She would have continued her explanation, but Molly gasped, a theatrical noise that echoed around the room and spawned a dozen whispered conversations.

Bunch of disorganised, self-centred- He stopped himself. These were his allies, he shouldn’t… if he started disparaging them, too, then he wasn’t sure he could continue working this war.

With shaking hands, Hermione continued. "This is the most logical-"

“Are you joking?” Molly demanded, her voice cutting through the din and stopping Hermione in her tracks. Her hands on her hips, the Weasley matriarch shook with barely repressed fury. “Are you seriously using this crisis to try and steal Harry away from my little girl? Again? Is this some revenge plot because Ron wouldn’t marry you?”

The chattering started again, louder this time.

“I… no.” Hermione frowned, turning to Harry for support. Harry shrugged, but stood up, his arms hanging down by his sides. 

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose.

“That isn’t what this is about, Mrs Weasley.” Hermione tried again, raising her voice in an effort to be heard above the din. “I really feel as though it solves a number-”

“Quiet!” Minerva’s high-pitched command seemed to fill the room, and the order members - children, the lot of them, no matter their age - settled back down into their seats. “Miss Granger has a plan she would like to share with us. We will hear her reasons before we start speculating.” Minerva stared Molly down. The ginger witch, whose hair was beginning to stand up from her head, eyes darting wildly, took a moment before she sat down. ”Miss Granger, please, continue.”

“Right, erm…” The chit bit her lip, and once again made eye contact with Severus. It seemed, for some reason he could not fathom, to give her confidence, and she began again.

“I thought that it would solve two problems at once.” She said. “Both Harry and I received our letters yesterday. We must marry within the next month, or else the Ministry will assign us partners.” Something snagged in Severus’ mind, but when he turned his attention to it, it was gone. There was something suspicious about what she’d said, and yet, she’d only read the facts. “If we marry one another, then both of us are removed from the equation. We can continue our work for the Order without having to worry about hiding our efforts from our spouses, we get along well as friends…” She faltered as she saw the shade of red Molly’s face was turning.

“Anyway, it was just a thought.”

“Slattern,” Molly shouted, her voice creaking at the seams. “Calculating whore!”

Severus raised an eyebrow, watching the scene carefully. He stretched his hands, preparing himself, running through the drills that made wandless magic so effortless.

“You knew you couldn't get Ron with that hair and your bookish ways, but that didn’t stop you from trying to trap him. Did you think if you married Harry we’d have to take you seriously? Your work for the Order? What do you, besides curl up in the library, reading? Did you really think that your future husband would care about that? I knew I should have listened to the news, but no, I believed you when Skeeter said- and then- How dare you!”

“Mum?” Ron tried, his hand pulling at his ginger hair. “It isn’t like that. Come on, you know that Hermione-”

Molly began to levitate, her magic bursting from her skin. Minerva’s hands worried at each other like indecisive puppies, her wand still hidden away. Severus had had enough.

“Stupefy.” He cast, ending the tirade against the innocent Miss Granger.

The silence in the library was deafening as Dumbledore caught Molly before she fell. All eyes turned to Severus. He settled back against his armchair, trying to ignore them all. A blush stained his cheekbones pink, but it was hidden behind a wall of his hair.

“Severus! You can’t just go around… just…” Minerva scrambled for the words to fill her outrage.

Severus raised an eyebrow, although nobody could see it. “Protecting my graduates? No, I suppose I should leave that to you.”

“Ahem. Right.” Dumbledore flailed. “Perhaps now we can return to the concentration and order in which we normally complete these meetings. Miss Granger, please take a seat.”

The chit turned, trying to find a seat - but there were none free. Order members lined up against the wall. The Headmaster wasn’t actually telling her to sit down, he was ordering her away from the front of the room - and Severus saw the moment she realised this. The way her head snapped back and her mouth opened.

But she didn’t fight it. She swallowed, and nodded. A frown line creased her brow as she walked towards Severus, perching on the arm of his armchair.

Severus felt himself mirror that frown. How dare she sit by him? His personal space during these debacles was a hard won affair, the only reward his role as spy and Dangerous Dark Magic Practitioner (TM) afforded him.

While Dumbledore ordered some tea to calm the nerves and sent for someone to levitate Molly up to a bed, Hermione leaned down towards him.

“Thank you, sir.” 

He blushed harder, and embarrassment fed the anger, colouring his words with an edge he didn’t intend.

“As you are incapable of defending yourself, Miss Granger, I felt it the only way to restore harmony to the room.”

“Yes, well. Thank you anyway.”

Dumbledore coughed, bringing everyone’s attentions back to him, mug in hand. “Now, Miss Granger raised a very valid theory for how we might stave off the Ministry demands, but I’m afraid it will not suffice. Miss Granger and Harry are both too close to the muggle world for the ministry to be satisfied with their union in the terms demanded by the letter.”

“But Headmaster,” Miss Granger piped up. Severus felt his heart warm with pride at her complete disregard of how celebrated the man was whom she kept upstaging, interrupting and otherwise annoying. Foolish gryffindor. “If we were to be married before the deadline, there would be no need for the union to fulfil their demands. As long as we were already married, they couldn’t question it.”

“I’m afraid, Miss Granger, that you are wrong.” Dumbledore’s eyes shone brightly. “The Ministry, I am sure, would see your marriage as the escape hatch it clearly is, and would dissolve it for that alone, and by that time we would be past the deadline. They would be well within their rights to provide replacement matches for both of you. We cannot take the risk. We will work tirelessly until Harry - indeed, both of you - have matches within the Order that fulfil the demands of the Ministry to the letter of the law.” His tone softened. “Do you understand?”

The girl bit her lip, and nodded. Severus wondered, peeking at her from under his hair, if he were the only one who saw the cold anger glittering in those dark brown eyes. She ducked her head, opened her notebook, and crossed something out with her quill. She closed it with a snap.

“Now, as Minerva was saying, if any of you are unwilling to put yourselves forward to be considered for marriage, please come see me privately.”

Severus was sure he was the only one who noticed a tear drip down from her chin and onto her lap. He silently placed a handkerchief onto the armrest she was perched on.

The meeting ended quickly, after a few reports from the aurors on current criminal activity that might be Death Eater related. None of it rang any bells, and the crease between Severus’ eyes deepened. First the marriage law, now these attacks - had the Dark Lord lost faith in his Hogwarts spy? Or were these truly unrelated crimes?

He was so lost in thought he didn’t take his usual route of escape - directly after the Headmaster closed the meeting and straight down the stairs - and so the large and slowly moving herd of Order members already blocked the door. He sighed and focussed his mind on fading away. It was a mental trick that had made him such an effective spy, and kept him alive in more of Voldemort’s councils than he cared to remember. It made him about as noticeable as the chair he was framed in, and didn't even require any magic. It would, at the very least, mean he would escape making conversation until the blockade filtered down the stairs.

Hermione had joined said blockade. Her shoulders slumped as Ronald Weasley and Harry Potter descended upon her, Harry grabbing her hand and pulling her away from the other members. Severus doubled down on his Occlumency shields, and shrank into the chair, curious.

“Hermione,” Harry said, running a hand through his messy black hair. “I’m sorry. I didn’t expect Molly to blow up like that.”

“Yeah.” Ron added. “That was mental.”

Hermione turned her gaze to Ron and Severus shivered. She said nothing. Ronald glanced between Harry and Hermione rapidly, and Harry frowned.

Ron gulped.

“Hermione, about earlier… I just wanted to say I’m… well…”

“Ron is trying to apologise.” Harry broke in.

Ron nodded. “I am. Sorry, that is. I didn’t… I wasn't thinking.” He paused and waited, but Hermione expression didn’t change. “Right. Hermione. I was … I’ve always known that I wasn’t the most attractive of the Wizarding population, alright? Even if you ignore the fact that I’m ginger and freckled, I’ve got five older brothers and most of them are a lot cooler than I am, you know? Fred and George have got the comedy act, and the rebellious one to boot. Bill and Charlie are way older and - hell - Charlie’s covered in muscles and works with dragons. I’ve always been the younger, weedy brother, you know? So when suddenly I realised that I might be a catch… I got a bit caught up in my own head.” His face contorted. “That list of demands was… rude. And dumb.”

Severus watched the tension ripple away over Hermione’s face like a sunrise, and scowled. How could she let him off that easily? The fool had insulted her several times in the course of a morning for Christ’s sake, and the boy’s mother had then tried to attack her - and successfully attacked her reputation - in front of a large group of their colleagues.

But forgive him she clearly was. “Just a little bit.” She said, a small smile gracing her lips. “It was selfish and inappropriate at best.” Her eyes flicked down to the floor and Severus once again watched her take a deep breath to steady herself. “It was probably a good thing that you did, you know? I think it proved that we would have made each other miserable if we married. I spoke with a friend and they made me think about what I wanted, long-term you know?” Severus Snape’s eyes narrowed. A friend? He had been the one - oh. Did she think he was her friend? She continued speaking as he stewed over the question. “I wouldn’t have been able to do that without you cornering me in here and demanding assurances about our future life. I still think it was uncaring, and I’m not sure I can just go back to normal straight away, but… you’re alright, Ron. You need to start to think before you act though.”

If she thought they were friends… well, after all that time working together in the basement one could forgive her the imposition. A warm feeling grew in his chest, but was quickly extinguished. It was clearly just a choice of words used to protect his identity. She didn't want these two imbeciles to think that she regularly had cosy chats about feelings with the bat of the dungeons, and so she had lied a little. His chest seemed to freeze over once again, and his mouth set, lips pressed together. The idea of their being friends was ludicrous. The girl clearly had enough friends already.

“Thanks Hermione.” Ron hugged her tightly - causing Severus’ lips to whiten further - and Harry joined in the embrace. “You’re a really good person, you know that? Anyone would be lucky to have you. You deserve better than me, you know?”

She snorted. “Yeah, I guess so.” They stood like that for a few moments. “Do you think your mum will ever forgive me?”

“Yeah, of course.” Ron said.

“I’ll talk to her, tell her it was my idea.” Harry said, looking a little green.

“No, don’t do that. Just… just let her calm down and I’ll speak with her. Try to explain my reasoning.”

For once, Severus empathised with the facial expressions on Potter and Weasley - that would not be a good idea. He would have to persuade her not to go anywhere near Molly when they were back in the potion’s lab tomorrow.

“Come on,” said Ron suddenly. “I think I heard Dumbledore saying McGonagall brought some shortbread biscuits for after the meeting, and if we don’t hurry they’ll be all gone.”

Hermione laughed. “Do you ever not think about food?” she asked, humour staining the question. 

“Nope!” Ron replied cheerfully. “Come on!”

Severus waited until they’d closed the door behind them before releasing his shields. The line between his eyes didn’t disappear when the Occlumency focus faded, and he rubbed it gently with a finger. Hermione Granger was a puzzle, but he had bigger problems to consider than the young Gryffindor. She was not for him to figure out.

He rubbed his chest with his left hand as he walked slowly towards the door, pressing against the spot he'd felt that brief flash of warmth.

But how he wished she were.

\--------

Harry Potter: Good friends. Comfortable. Expedient - saves both of us. Work well together. Would be with him saving the world anyway. No more danger than I’m in now. Easy. Cons: Skeeter. Ginny. To do: Talk to Harry first. Propose the idea to Dumbledore.


	5. And The Walls Come Tumbling Down

Severus Snape was enjoying the calm of the lab. It was an early Saturday afternoon, and the warmth of the sun, along with Harry and Ron’s cajoling, had drawn Granger out into the lazy air. It had been preternaturally hot the last week, so much so that Severus had resorted to Cooling Charms wrapped discreetly around his frame. Without them, he'd have had to forgo keeping the heavy cotton cloak buttoned tightly around him - and he was not as comfortable as that here at headquarters.

Luckily the basement was naturally cool - he didn’t risk the cooling charms near the potions for fear that an unhappy mix of ingredient and temperature magic might cause unexpected side effects. The time it took a potion to boil, especially experimental potions like these, was carefully controlled. He’d even taken to unwrapping himself and leaving the cloak on the peg by the stairs in order to put distance between the now magic-imbued garment and his precious cauldrons.

Luckily the chit mostly forgoed charms and other cosmetic additions, so he’d only had to give her the lecture once. Either that or she was clever enough not to provoke him into a repeat performance.

Her lavender jumper was folded neatly over one of the stools near the door. She kept saying that she would bring down a hanger and put it on the peg, but she never remembered to. It meant that the corner sometimes smelt of her. When Severus worked in here alone, late at night, he felt as though he were haunted by the Gryffindor bookworm, that she was sitting quietly, reading while he worked, even when he knew she was curled up sleeping soundly upstairs. A pleasant daydream he only allowed himself occasionally.

He began to prepare ingredients for the latest batch of Burn Salve, aware that Granger should be coming down soon to dice the aloe vera for the base. He’d found using the muggle herb in the potion’s base surprisingly effective for removing the immediate sting, although it added little to the longer term healing. Still, if the patient felt a potion working, they were less likely to give up on repeated applications before fully healed. It was a consequence, he felt, of how every desire they ever entertained could be handed to them with one swish of a wand. It was little wonder most of them had the attention span of gnats.

He sighed and pushed himself up out of his chair. He pulled open the cupboard door and stepped inside, revelling in the almost icy chill that brushed across his skin. He knew that here, old charms had been layered on top of each other on each brick, and it had at first made him concerned for the potency of his ingredients. But that had been years ago - after numerous tests he’d come to the conclusion that the room had been made for keeping precious stock like this, had been carefully woven to keep the temperature cool by magnifying the earth’s own properties.

Or so he theorised. It didn’t stop him retesting the hypothesis at the start of every summer.

He heard a thump echo through the walls. Granger again. Must the woman be so violent with everything she touched?

A second thump. Had she had an unfortunate run in with the Weasley boy once more?

He reached out to the handle of the room to throw open the door and demand she use her considerable vocabulary instead of her fists, but stopped before his fingers brushed the handle. Voices. She’d brought someone else down here. McGonagall had explicitly told her not to encourage others down here.

His instincts as a spy kicked in, and he worked the door slightly, careful not to allow it to open more than a finger’s width.

“I can’t believe you proposed to Harry!”

Ah, not the Weasley boy, but the girl. As passionate as her mother. Honestly, Severus felt some sympathy for her.

“I can’t believe neither of you thought to tell me!”

Now Severus felt a whole lot of sympathy.

Hermione stammered. “I just assumed Harry would-”

Ginny screamed in frustration. “And he assumed you would. My best friend. I honestly thought you were clever than that.” She gulped down a mouthful of air and the anger seemed to deflate out of her. “I feel so betrayed. By both of you. Sisters before misters, Hermione.”

The girl slumped onto one of the stools - Severus heard the scrape of wood against the stone floor - and put her head into her hands.

“You’re right.” Hermione sat next to her, but didn’t reach out to close the gap. “We should have told you what we were planning to do. Or at least after, before Molly woke up.”

Ginny snorted. “She was so mad.”

“I didn’t like him, you know? Not like that. It just made sense, to take care of the two muggleborns at once.” 

“He’s not a muggleborn.” Ginny pointed out, her voice muffled by her hands, which still guarded her face jealousy.

“Fine, the two people who need to be taken care of. You knew what I meant.” There was a pause before Hermione continued. “But it wasn’t like I planned this, you know?”

“I know.” Ginny raised her head, her hair still tangled in her fingers. “I do know that. That’s why I’m not really mad, you know? Not like mum. I’m frustrated and disappointed and feel left out. You always leave me out. And I don’t even get to be mad about that because you’re off saving the world or whatever as a three. I’m not part of it. The Golden Quartet doesn’t have a nice enough ring to it.” She sighed, and picked at something on her knee. Her voice seemed to hollow in sadness. “It was probably even the right choice. I’ve just liked him so long it felt a bit like you… you reached into my chest and twisted my heart.”

Hermione leaned forward and awkwardly embraced the younger girl. Severus was surprised at the maturity displayed by 17-year-old Ginevra , and decided he quite liked the girl. Although that thought made him consider whether he was spending far too much time surrounded by Gryffindors, especially given the time since he was last summoned.

He frowned, and rubbed at his left forearm. It was beginning to trouble him more and more, that Voldemort clearly didn’t trust him enough - or that he had lost his worth now that the Boy Who Lived no longer attended Hogwarts.

He forced himself to focus on the conversation in his lab, rather than give in to the spiralling thoughts snapping at each other. If Voldemort had lost faith, it meant he would soon end up dead. And if Severus thought about that, he might break. A broken spy would be of no worth to either side.

He couldn’t afford to be cowardly, and Hermione Granger’s struggles with finding a mate gave him an escape, an outlet. It had nothing to do with how fetching he had noticed she had become. Nothing at all to do with the clothes the summer heat allowed her to wear, clearly from last summer and now just a tad too small for her mature body. How in the moments between hot and cold, her arms tangled in that lavender jumper, she would be completely vulnerable, completely trusting - in him.

Dammit man, focus.

The women were muttering to each other, Hermione comforting Ginevra. “You’ll never be left out, and I’m sure once the war is over and Harry has the time to even think about dating-”

“He needs to marry.” The Weasley pointed out despondent. “I never even got a chance, thanks to this stupid law stuff. I was born too late.” Severus smirked at the melodramatic teenager he recognised from years of teaching her.

“Why can’t he marry you?” Hermione asked. 

“I think mum was really pushing for that, you know? That’s why she turned on you.” A pause. “Thank Merlin Snape was there…”

“Professor Snape. Yeah, he was great.” Hermione acknowledged. “He really gave me the confidence to continue speaking after… well… Yeah, he saved me.”

Severus blushed.

“And he saved mum. Can you imagine what would have happened if she’d actually hexed you?”

There was a moment of silence, then Ginny stood up. “I’ve got to go upstairs and help mum finish dinner. You have fun finishing up your potions or whatever it is you do down here…” She waved her hand around the lab, and Hermione smiled.

“Just some basic brews. Boring stuff that Professor Snape doesn’t want to take care of.”

The cheek of the chit! She was his full research partner in all the combinations, studying directly under a Potions Master, even without the formality of an apprenticeship. Boring stuff indeed. Anyone would give their right arm for a chance to-

He stopped suddenly at the thought. She was lying to protect his reputation. If it got out to the general populace, even only the members of the house, that he was working closely and cooperatively with his ex-student there would be no end of questions. It would blow his cover, or damage the frightening persona he maintained.

He’d told her to tell people they were doing Order work, but he hadn’t expected her to be that clever about it. Unless she actually found working with him boring?

Severus felt his heart stutter.

No, he couldn’t mistake the light in her eyes as she suggested various upgrades and amendments as anything other than the fervent love of studying that had plagued him in various forms the entire time she’d been a student at Hogwarts.

She enjoyed it here, ergo, she was lying to Ginny. For him. How very Slytherin.

“Ginny,” Hermione said, then hesitated. The ginger girl waited. “I don’t suppose you’d consider marrying me?”

Severus’ eyebrows shot up. Ginny blurted out a peal of laughter. “Are you serious?” She asked. When she realised that Hermione was, she sobered up a little, but the humour coloured her words. “Hermione, I don’t… go that way.” 

Hermione nodded. “I’m not sure that I do, but I’m really scared about who the Ministry will match me with. Especially if Professor Dumbledore is correct and the law comes from You-Know-Who himself.”

Ginny frowned. “I thought Dumbledore had you all calling him Voldemort?”

Severus forced his muscles to relax as they bunched underneath him, reminding himself yet again that the Dark Lord couldn’t reach here.

“Yeah, well. I must have picked it up from somewhere. Anyway, I figured if I married you, then I wouldn’t need to marry some random person...”

Ginny lay a hand on Hermione’s arm. “Don’t worry, Hermione. Dumbledore will fix it, you wait and see. But I can’t sacrifice my future for you. I want to be happy with- with the man I marry, you know? Anyways, I’ve really got to go. Trust me, Hermione, Dumbledore will fix it.”

Hermione nodded and drew away. Severus could sense her feeling of rejection through the wall, and wondered at how Ginny could so easily dismiss her friend’s proposal. He waited until he heard the lab door close again before he slowly pushed his way out of the storage cupboard.

Hermione jumped.

“Sir, have you been here the whole time? But I suppose you must have been.” She drew her lip in-between her teeth. “How much did you hear?”

“All of it, Miss Granger.” Severus walked over to her but hesitated. They weren’t friends, he reminded himself. As much as he wanted to reach out and comfort her, pat her on the shoulder or pull her into the easy hug she had shared with Ginevra , he couldn’t. She was only recently no longer his student, and besides, when had anyone ever welcomed his touch? Instead of being comforted she’d probably be sickened. 

Obviously unacceptable, he reminded himself.

“I…” She squared her jaw and looked up at him. “I hope you don’t think less of me?”

“Not at all.” Hermione nodded, but did not release her lip. He swallowed. “I believe I told you to think long-term, and yet you propose to Ginevra Weasley, a straight woman. Would that marriage have been a happy one? Perhaps I ought to curate the list a little, based on your recent experiments.”

She darted a glance up at him before pulling the notebook from her satchel and dropping it onto the table. She slid her finger between the pages at a bright red post-it note and flipped it open. As he watched over her shoulder, she crossed Ginny’s name from around half-way down the page.

“So if we take these in order,” Severus said, tapping Potter’s name, “next is Neville, then Viktor Krum? Who is… Ah yes, the Bulgarian. How do you know him?” 

Hermione seemed to shiver at his words, and he stepped back a little to allow her more personal space. He was looming over her, he realised self-consciously. That had to be disconcerting for anyone, let alone when they were speaking over her personal life… She had a way of making him forget himself. Who he had carefully crafted himself to be.

“We dated in fourth year, during the Tri-Wizard tournament,” she explained. Severus allowed himself to feel the flush of hot jealousy that accompanied those words, but refused to show any of it. “He is a careful man who struggled valiantly to help us during the maze crisis. I believe we wouldn’t make each other miserable, at least. After he rescued me from the lake, he said he truly liked me, that I was one of a kind.”

“That you are, but Krum is unacceptable.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione demanded, swinging around. Now that she was facing him, no longer bent over her notebook, he realised that they were still standing closely. Far too close for his peace of mind. But taking a step back would show weakness, make it obvious that she unbalanced him… Conflicted, he did nothing, as she stood waiting for his answer. “Well? You can’t just remove someone from my small list of marriage possibilities without explaining your reasoning!”

She must be getting far too familiar with him if she was going to use that tone. Severus’ anger flared up, and this time he let it creep across his voice and face. “I can and I will. You will not marry Viktor Krum.”

Hermione did not move, but slowly crossed her arms over her chest and maintained eye contact with him. In the face of her defiance his anger leaked away. He ran a hand through his hair to brush it from his face, and moved to sit beside her. “It’s too dangerous.” Hermione opened her mouth to ask something, but he lifted a hand. “Please, let me speak. It is dangerous for a number of reasons, none of which you should repeat outside this room. The first is that the Krum family are an unknown factor. Several of his family members, including his close aunt, supported the Dark Lord through his first rise and at least one is currently helping him with his second. The Dark Lord maintains a solid foothold in Bulgaria, believing that we should copy their examples in schooling and research: a fact I am sure you are unsurprised to learn.”

She settled down once again on her lab stool, and Severus savoured for a moment their nearness. He noticed one of her hairs somehow twisted into the fabric of his trousers, and pulled it out as he continued to speak. It curled around his fingers. “Second, they are in Bulgaria. You cannot possibly leave now, or else you destabilise our efforts to win the war - and if you do not go and live with your new husband, doubts will be raised over the truth of your marriage. In addition, it is doubtful that Viktor would wish to be so long apart from his new wife, and that would be additional pressure to leave the country. He could not move here, not in this political climate. The Ministry has tightened the borders for foreign Wizards and Witches to show they take the growing number of Dark attacks seriously.”

He risked a glance up at her, feeling his heart warm with pride at how attentively she listened to him.

“And if you were to move to Bulgaria and the marriage did not work out for some reason or other, you are far from the support of your friends and family. You would be isolated in a country that still to its roots believes that Muggleborns are worthless.”

He took a breath and wetted his lips. His mouth was dry, but this last part was important. He could not risk letting her brush over it if he moved away, even if that disruption was only to fetch water.

“And if that does not persuade you, then I must finish by saying that you should not marry anyone who studies Dark Magic.”

He glanced up at her face from amongst his hair to see that she had raised an eyebrow speculatively, but she did not begin to speak. He realised with a start that he had asked her not to interrupt and cleared his throat. “You may ask questions now,” he rasped.

“Sir, you practice dark magic. Why would you advise me to stay clear of all those who do the same?”

There was a well of ugly humour bubbling up inside his chest, and Severus had a mad urge to cackle. He was scared that if he began to laugh, he would end with crying, and the little respect he had fostered in the chit would be lost by the end of the afternoon. Instead, he screwed up his sanity to clarify.

“I would not marry myself. Dark Magic relies on your baser emotions as fuel. Over time, as you cast more and more dark spells, experiment more and more with that side of yourself, they live closer to the surface. For me, it is anger - when I first started I was filled with righteous anger. Over the years, I have tried consciously to balance it with other unpleasant emotions, but anger is the default source I use in times of stress.” He darted a glance at her, and saw confusion and a hint of fear. It felt like a knife stabbing into his chest. He felt his anger stir at the rejection, but calmly pulled his barriers into place. This was an important lesson for Hermione to understand, if it would keep her safe from Krum. From those like Krum. He could deal with the embarrassment, the judgement, if it meant that she could make an informed decision.

It would, a part of his brain noted, probably also be the end of the casual relationship they had built up over the month in his little lab, too. She would soon find other more important things to help the Order with than his potions, drawing away from him. The loss would be worth it if it kept her safe, he knew that. His desires and comforts meant little in the grand scheme of things.

Severus forced himself to continue talking. “To control dark magic, then, is in many ways to lose control of your emotions.”

“I have very rarely seen you lose control of your emotions.” Hermione rebutted. 

“Liar.” He smirked. “I am always on the brink of rage, and I’m sure yourself and Longbottom have often been at the brunt of it.”

“But you didn’t hurt us.”

“No, but that’s not to say another Dark Wizard wouldn’t. I take a vow every year with Dumbledore and Hogwarts to keep the students safe.”

Hermione’s brain seemed to spin and whir.

Two plates appeared on the table next to them so suddenly that even Severus jumped. The conversation had been so intense the rest of the world had seemed to fade away.

He eyed the plates suspiciously - they seemed carefully placed, one at his left elbow, and the other at Hermione’s right. Almost as though the sender had been very specific over who had which. 

“I don’t think that the vow is the only reason,” Hermione mused, manfully ignoring the smell of meat pie curling through the air. “I think you are downplaying your considerable self-control. After all, you have not hurt me yet, and we’ve been working together for two months now.”

Severus felt that this conversation was getting out of hand, and lifted the glass of water to his mouth instead of replying. When he glanced at her, Hermione had a fork in hand and was just about to plunge it into the meat pie.

Something in his brain clicked, and before he had thought through the motion, Severus grabbed her hand in his.

Her skin was soft and warm and Severus felt his hard fingers almost melt into her.

“Don’t,” he said, pushing away her plate and pulling his fingers from hers with effort. “Miss Weasley said that her mother had cooked. Who knows what she did to that. Share mine instead.”

He carefully cut a line that was almost in the center, but veered in places towards the left. Then he pushed the plate in between them, careful to position the larger side towards Hermione. 

“Thanks,” She tilted her head to one side, studying him. “You saved me from Mrs Weasley once again.”

He smirked, hiding the pleased thrill he was sure must be visible behind a wall of his hair. “Somebody had to.”

She didn’t appear too scared of him, at least not yet. Perhaps once she’d digested the conversation, realised what it meant about him… Once she was alone and didn’t have to hide behind her Gryffindor courage. Well, he didn’t expect her to be back. But he could enjoy this last shared supper, could he not? A companion that could keep up with him conversationally was in short supply nowadays. He ignored the part of him that would miss her, specifically. He wasn’t allowed to desire things like understanding or camaraderie. That had been a choice made long ago.

“So,” She began, and then stopped. Her voice seemed to echo around the lab. Severus winced - he’d let the silence grow awkward while he thought over her reaction, and now she had been forced to try and save it. Why was friendship so damned difficult? Why must he always look like a fool?

“So?” he drawled.

“I was wondering what you thought about experimenting with a few other Muggle herbs. Since the aloe vera appeared to work so well.”

He chewed while he considered the proposal. “Yes, that seems like a good starting point for further-” His left arm exploded in pain, his fork leaping from his hand and skidding down the table. Gravy dripped in its arc.

Hermione gaped at him in shock as he turned white, wrapping the other hand around his forearm. He watched understanding dawn in her eyes. Each layer of Occluding was another sharp second he was away from his master, but there were things he needed to hide. Things his Dark Lord could not know.

“I’ll wait for you,” she offered. 

He shook his head. “No. You do not know how long I will be gone.” The pain turned and shifted the words, making them burn white hot.

“I will be here," she repeated.

He didn’t have time to argue with the chit, or the worry in her eyes - not when he knew the same worry was reflected inside himself, poised to shatter his shields. He nodded curtly and strode to the door and up the stairs.

“Send a note to the Headmaster. Hopefully, if I return, we will understand more fully how to manage the marriage crisis.”

Another stab of pain chased through his body and he turned his thoughts away from Hermione and towards his master, finishing the onion of shields that would hopefully protect him. The warm London air barely touched his arm before he turned on his heel and Apparated away.

\--------

Ginevra Weasley: Safe. Whole family works closely with the order. No secrets. Cons: Molly’s daughter. In love with Harry. Straight. Share few hobbies.


	6. The Enemy Faction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for sadism, torture, implied torture, and implied sexual relations between Death Eaters.

Sweat beaded on Severus’ lip as he knelt before his master, the Dark Lord, the ache in his knees solidifying into a sharp stabbing pain. He was getting too old for this.

His Lord sat on a chair on a dias, laughing with the Senior Malfoy. Lucius held a whisky glass in one hand and was spilling a little of it as he gesticulated - Severus could see it splashes of it across the wood panelling when he craned his eyes towards the dias. Something he attempted for mere seconds at a time, not wanting to get caught. Lucius could be such a sot. It was his way of coping with the knowledge that his family were in danger, and it was his fault.

“Severus,” the Dark Lord said, breaking easily from the banter. His voice held no intonation, devoid of the humour he had so recently shared. “Why are you still kneeling, my son?”

Severus had played this game too many times to know that this was not an invitation to get up. Eyes resolutely fixed onto the floor just ahead of his painful knees, he swallowed. “My Lord has not called me for a week now, and yet it is the summer. I can only assume that I have fallen from your favour somehow and thus seek repentance.” 

“It’s been more than a week since you called upon me,” mocked Lucius, slurring slightly. Severus’ eyes widened - if the Dark Lord chose to indulge in his blonde pet’s humour, Severus would be writhing on the carpet within seconds. “You sound like a scorned teenage girl, Sev. The Master calls on those he deems useful.” Several people tittered behind Severus and he felt the air on the back of his neck rise.

“Lucius." The word fell from the Dark Lord's lip, flat and humourless. A reproach. Immediately the room fell silent. “My poor Severusss.”

Nagini whispered along the floor in the quiet that followed, circling Severus. He flicked a parched tongue across his lips and allowed his fear to grow. The Dark Lord would be pleased if he saw that fear. He thought it equalled control.

The room was cold and smelt of dust. It wasn’t a large room as such, roughly the size of his classroom, but narrower and longer. He realised that the dias was simply a stage, that this was more than likely a church hall. The thought was not cheering - if some Muggle were to walk in and find them, he had no doubts as to what his master would do. 

“Do not fear. You have not fallen from favour, my son. I merely knew that you were helping the Order with some potions and wanted you to cement their good opinions of you. I want to know what their plans are to deal with my pretty new paperwork trap, and you are the only one well placed enough to tell me. That is the only reason I have let you fester with those horrid little plotters.”

Nagini stopped circling him and Severus' pulse began to slow down.

“My lord, I cannot tell you how relieved I am to hear that.”

Lucius snorted and the Dark Lord pushed him away from the chair. Lucius stumbled, but regained his balance and walked elegantly, if a little unevenly, down the little wooden stairs and out into the night. Voldemort patted the arm of his chair as he spoke. “Come, report to me.”

Severus rose unsteadily and staggered forward, hoping his mind was exaggerating how awkwardly he walked. Definitely too old, he confirmed as he pushed himself up and perched on the arm. From here he could see the others in the room, but they were masked and cloaked. Four Death Eaters, one woman and three men, if the silhouettes could be trusted.

Severus cleared his throat. “My lord, the Headmaster plots. The Boy-To-Die and the blood traitor are too dumb to think for themselves, and the Mudblood has a list.”

That word would be the death of him someday. Every time Severus said it, his soul died by breaths. It brought Lily's face to mind, her shock and horror. His betrayal writ plain across it, as if he'd slapped her.

“A list?” the Dark Lord asked, a sinister, bloodless smile curling at the corner of his mouth. Severus nodded.

An awful laugh erupted from those thin lips. “Too funny, Severus, too perfect. Of course she did.”

“So far, my Lord, she is the only one with any kind of plan.”

The Dark Lord’s smile broadened. “As you say, Severus. Truly, the brains of the operation.” Somehow, he made it sound like an insult. Abruptly he gestured a hand and Bellatrix minced into the room as though she had been waiting for his signal. Perhaps she had. She stood behind the Dark Lord's chair, petting her hair into shape, watching Severus with hungry eyes. “Continue, Severus. What has the bitch planned?”

“She has been attempting to marry herself off, of course, my Lord. The blood traitor disgusted her with his response and the Headmaster cut off her proposal to the Boy-To-Die. Even the Weasley girl rejected her, so there might be some sense in the clan yet.”

The inner part of him that he hoped was well hidden winced at this callous description. She thought him a friend, and he… well, he was something else entirely. These were details she had shared with him in trust, but they were also useful tidbits for the Dark Lord. They gave no real information that the Dark Lord could use to crush the order, merely gossip - but nonetheless He seemed to enjoy such things.

“Ah yes, the Weasley's only girl child. I believe she should have fond memories of our time together." Severus bit back a shudder, remembering the blood on the walls, the sheer fear that basilisk had wrought. 

"It is no surprise that she is having trouble,” Bellatrix hissed through a blood red smile. “Not even a family such as the Weasleys want a girl like that polluting their bloodlines.”

Severus inclined his head. “As you say.”

“So what do Dumbledore and his whore plot?” The Dark Lord tapped against the arms of his chair, impatient.

“My lord, the Headmaster has requested that those who do not wish to marry the charity cases present themselves to him, otherwise everyone shall be married, within the Order where possible.” Again, these were obvious, too little to twist into knives.

“Charity cases.” Bellatrix snorted. “Such a beautiful turn of phrase.” Her fingers slid up from her waist to cup a breast, pale and glowing against the darkness of her dress. Severus swallowed and looked away. She was too dangerous to admire openly - like a tiger, murderous and driven by instinct, no matter how brazenly she displayed herself.

“And have you done so?” the Dark Lord asked. Severus could tell that although the question fell from his lips as though it was of little consequence, there was only one right answer.

“My lord, I could not act before I spoke to you. Perhaps you wished me to present myself as a candidate in order to further the appearance that I am 'his man'.”

“Perhaps.” Voldemort beckoned and Bellatrix minced closer, taking up the opposite chair arm. He slid a hand around her waist. “I want you to ignore the old coot. Neither sign up for his list nor marry whomsoever he appoints. You have bigger fish to fry.”

“My lord?”

“I had thought to give her to Bella.” 

“Who, my lord?”

“The Mudblood, of course.” The Dark Lord's hand ghosted up Bellatrix’s body to tangle in her hair. He tugged her head back and she willingly exposed her throat, ignoring the snake that inched closer to the throne at the motion. “Wouldn’t they be such a pretty pair?”

Severus nodded, not trusting his voice. He was knelt close enough to the chair that Bella could reach forward and brush herself against him easily. He would do almost anything to prevent that.

“But I prefer to keep my pet uninhibited.”

“Is Bellatrix not already married, my Lord?” Severus asked, confused. 

“No.” The Lord’s face stretched into an approximation of a smile. “She is with Rodolphus but they took no formal vows. My beauty prefers to keep the vow she made to me her only one, and I have to agree with her.” He released his hold on her hair and rested his arm in her lap instead. “We allowed people to believe she was married in order to keep up appearances.”

“It was expected that I would marry a Pureblood once I left that crumbling castle,” she said, braiding her fingers around those in her lap. “Didn’t do to alienate my Lord’s supporters.”

“I...see.” Severus said. He tilted his head down and allowed his hair to fall like a curtain before his face. Merlin these meetings were dull, getting duller by the years. Was that all this was - public foreplay between Bella and the Dark Lord, himself and the other Death Eaters merely a built in audience?

“I want you to pursue the girl instead.” 

Had Severus been drinking, he would have spat. As it was, he gasped for air. “My...Lord?”

“What is it, my son? She is young, based on her appearance still a virgin… What about her displeases you?”

“My Lord wishes me to marry a Mudblood?” Severus fished for something, anything that would save her from that. “I thought you said I had not fallen from favour.”

Severus felt his chin being lifted to meet Voldemort’s gaze. 

“You have not. I realise that marrying a Mudblood, particularly given your delicate position, may not be the strongest move in our future - but she will not sully your reputation for long. You will have many years after we win to find a new bride, one with... cleaner roots.” He brushed his thumb along Severus’ jaw. “This will help me immensely, Severus. I will not force you to take her, if you truly despise it. But think of how much more information you will gain, how much that wife of yours will overhear in her meddling, that Potter will tell her.” His fingers tightened. “They will trust you.”

“My Lord,” Severus spoke into that tight grip, despite the ache. “I think they will be suspicious of my claiming her.”

“Severus, don’t simply state that you will marry her.” Bellatrix sounded disgusted with him. “Use that acting ability and persuade her to. Say it’s a love match and you’ve been watching her closely all those years she was at school. Say you admire her list making abilities. Whatever it takes to persuade her. The cretin called Headmaster will fall into line after that.”

“I will lose my job.” Severus said, slowly, his brain too tired to find other arguments. He was losing. 

“No," Voldemort rebutted. “You are too important to the old coot. You are one of the finest teachers in the land, his only connection to our circle, and would have had to marry one of your ex-students anyway. Tell him that you know I plan to marry you to her and are simply making a power play to prove your loyalty. Tell him anything you like. I want you engaged by this time next week.”

Voldemort released Severus’ jaw, and he fought the urge to rub his fingers to try to ease the pain.

“I will do it, for my Lord. Of course.”

The Dark Lord smiled. “Thank you, my son.” He patted him on the head and then pushed him away from the chair, leaving Severus sprawled across the carpet. He swallowed, fighting down the rage that came with the action. It was always a hard line to walk, keeping his emotions leashed. He scrambled to his feet and prepared to leave, reaching for his wand. Voldemort tugged Bellatrix across his lap, allowing him free access to her body. She smiled, her eyes not leaving Severus’.

Severus wasn’t sure if it was the painfully thin woman or the power he held over her that attracted the Dark Lord more. 

“It wouldn’t do to send you back like that,” Voldemort drawled. A smile graced his lips, twin to that on Bella’s face. It set Severus’ bones screaming. “The Headmaster must believe you are desperate to regain my good graces. So I must make it look like you have fallen.” He raised his wand slowly. Bellatrix spread her legs, her gaze heated and full of promise. “Crucio.”

\--

Some time later Severus pulled himself up the stairs at Grimmauld Place, gripping the barrier with white fingers, and cursed his younger, dumb self. If he hadn’t fallen for the Dark Lord’s lies in the first place, he could be a happily employed Dark Arts teacher. Instead, he was cramping and wincing his way up a flight of stairs that a puppy could master in seconds. To add insult to injury, if anybody saw him like this he was too weak to curse them for it.

He would brew himself a Dreamless and go to bed. Report in the morning. He knew he shouldn’t dose himself again, but… this torture had been reminiscent of some of his earlier ones, and he wouldn’t lie awake all night twitching and remembering the first night he had failed his master - he couldn't. He needed sleep, or else he'd simply stop working, like a neglected clockwork toy.

His feet took him towards the cellar, each movement bringing a curse word bubbling to his lips. He kept them inside - he did not want to draw any more attention to this debacle than was necessary.

Severus did not hope that Hermione would be waiting for him, despite her words. He had been gone hours, and besides, the chit had probably realised that she was waiting for a Death Eater to come back… She would be thinking about all the horrors she had read of and seen, and wondering which ones he had committed, whose blood he had spilt that night… 

Which is why, when he gained the potion’s lab and saw that he was not alone, his wand was in his hand before his brain caught up.

She was sleeping on one of the stools, her jumper folded up beneath her bushy head and kept in place by one arm. He could barely make out her form underneath his heavy black cloak, which she had clearly pulled on for warmth.

This was the witch he would marry. He sighed. If the Dark Lord lost she would be stuck with him until he finally keeled over of old age, and if he won she would be dead. Poor child. Best to let her sleep, to hide the truth. At least for tonight.

He pulled a cauldron over to an unlit fire and she mumbled something in her sleep. He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Miss Granger?” he prompted. She murmured in response and pushed his arm away. He winced. “Miss Granger!”

She rose, brushing her long hair away from her face as she did it. And then that face lit up. “You’re back.” He rolled his eyes and tried again to lift the cauldron onto the fire. Sweat beaded on his forehead and he couldn’t make it all the way. The tremours hadn’t faded yet, clearly. He clinged to the cauldron, grinding his teeth together. He would not drop it in front of Miss Granger, not with the awful knowledge at the back of his tongue that he would marry her, whether she liked it or no. And Severus rather suspected he knew whether she would like it.

“My god, you’re hurt.” She shrugged off his cloak and hurried towards him. “Is there anything to bandage, or was it Crucio?”

Severus shrugged, the cauldron still clutched to his chest.

“Here, let me help.” She took the cauldron and placed it over the fire. If he’d been able to open his jaw he would have rebuked her, but since it was clenched tightly shut he couldn’t say a word. She watched him for a moment, then retrieved the charmed cloak from the floor and wrapped it around him, rubbing his hands between hers. “What were you planning to make? Some form of pain relief?”

He glared at her. He couldn’t trust himself to try and speak. Instead he stared into her eyes and shoved the thought into her. “Dreamless.”

She bit her lip, frowning as the thought caused pain to ripple across her skull. Instant regret flared across Severus' skin, a slap. He shouldn't have done that. “I’m not sure that’s safe, sir. If you take a Dreamless Sleep without addressing the trauma, you could bite your own tongue off and not notice til morning.”

He scowled at her again. Wouldn’t the chit ever learn. It wasn’t like it mattered; as long as he was asleep he wouldn’t feel the pain and it wasn’t as if he couldn’t grow it back.

Her gaze softened and he realised he was still thrusting his thoughts towards her. Horrified, he slammed the connection shut. She nodded. “I’ll do it, sir.”

He worked on massaging his jaw muscles as she began preparing the ingredients. Usually, he would have some prepared Dreamless in his personal stores, but he’d used it up last night when memories had surfaced. Memories of Frank Longbottom trying desperately to protect his wife. Severus would need to be careful, or else his addiction would surface again.

She kept glancing at him under her brown lashes as she worked.

“Miss Granger, eyes on the potion please," he managed to grind out. It made him feel so much better to be in control of his voice. “It wouldn’t do to explain how you lost a digit, would it?”

She grinned at him cheekily before focusing more keenly on the leaves she was dicing. “I’ll have this bottled and ready for you on your nightstand once you get back, sir. If you’ll allow me to enter your room?” Now he was quite convinced Granger was happy she had an excuse to avoid his gaze, the blush painting her cheeks a deeper brown. “It would save you several flights of stairs after your meeting with the Headmaster. Assuming you’ll use the library floo? He’s gone back to Hogwarts for something.”

Severus nodded curtly, and decided she was right: if he spoke to Albus now he would have no reason to be up in the morning, and the potion would take some time to brew regardless. He had no qualms about leaving her alone with the work; it wasn't as if she didn't have the skills or the responsibility. Given the way she still seemed to be paying far more attention to him than the potion, even with her eyes studiously cast down, she might be even more competent if he wasn’t there.

“Fine, Miss Granger. You may leave it on my nightstand.”

He rose, his knees sharply reminding him of the service they had endured earlier. He could feel her eyes on him as he took the stairs one at a time, and flushed. He was as weak as a newborn kitten and Granger couldn’t fail to notice. Not a great impression of her future husband. A twinge of guilt flooded through his much abused chest and he paused.

“Granger,” he said. Her head bobbed up. “The Dark Lord and I discussed you. I have to report to Dumbledore about it first, but... ” Severus sighed. “I thought you should know.” Honestly he wasn’t sure what was more honourable in this situation, tell her or his boss first. But maybe Dumbledore would see a way out of this… plan.

He waited for the questions to bubble out of her, but she remained oddly silent. She merely nodded and thanked him before turning back to her brewing. Hell of a witch.

\----

It was over an hour later before Severus finally made it back to his room at Grimmauld, eyes burning and limbs still clenching in pain. Dumbledore had been less than pleased with the Dark Lord’s planned marriage and had pretty much ordered Severus to ignore it. Which he was not going to do: he was loyal but not to the point of suicide, and he knew he provided more alive than dead. At least until the end of the war. 

He’d not told the Headmaster about the Cruciatus and Dumbledore had pretended not to notice that Severus’ limbs flailed mutinously.

When Severus finally reached his room, the fireplace was lit and the room a good temperature instead of its normal dark, cold state. It felt oddly comfortable to be looked after. He unbuttoned his shirt.

Severus was surprised that the chit hadn’t waited for him here, questions overflowing. He knew if she were here, he couldn’t have waited. He would have stayed up to tell her the plan, tried to comfort her when she panicked, and, hopefully, brainstormed solutions together. But there was no sign of her - no sign other than the lit fireplace and the two vials of potion on his nightstand.

Shrugging the shirt from his shoulders and leaving it crumpled on the floor, he assessed them. She hadn’t labelled them. The purple was clearly a Sleepless, and the second… he unstoppered it carefully and breathed in a little. Camomile and cherry were an odd combination. His brow creased as he pondered the pink potion and slid his socks off. It was a little more viscous than the Dreamless, and given that combination of ingredients… A muscle relaxant, of course. And now that he was sitting on the bed, he noticed that wasn’t the only thing on his nightstand - a small, clear, circular box was almost hidden behind the vials.

He took a full dosage from each - truthfully a double dosage of dreamless, he had built up a tolerance - and carefully unhooked the box. Inside nestled a clear, horseshoe shaped thing. He frowned, and noticed that underneath the jelly horseshoe was a note of instructions. ‘Place in mouth and bite down as shown. The activation to bind to your teeth is aptare. This mouthguard should be used whenever playing impact sports such as quidditch in order to protect the teeth and tongue.”

He grimaced even as his heart warmed. Traitorous thing. The chit was merely worried he wouldn’t be able to teach potions if he bit it off, that was all. She was probably laughing about Snape lying in bed wearing a mouthguard to her despicable chums. His teeth were nothing worth protecting.

A spasm shot through his arm and he nearly dropped the damn present. “Careful”, he chided himself. He shoved it into place around his teeth and said the charm, then bit down. The heat and sensation of his teeth being hugged caused a spasm of fear to shoot up his spine - was this something charmed to remove his teeth? Colour them blue? - but the sensation lasted only a few moments and the fear dissolved a few seconds later after he checked himself in the mirror.

He lifted a corner of the cover and slipped underneath. His bed was even warmer than the room. Curious. He slid back out and the warmth disappeared. Not bothering to reach for his wand, he cast a detection spell on the covers. A certain witch - for who else could it be - had charmed his bed.

Sighing, he returned to his sheets with a smile plastered across his dour features, feeling his muscles relaxing into the warmth. Give the woman an inch and she’d take a mile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Voldemort is much, much easier and more natural to write than the Dark Lord, but we all know Severus would never address him as such and try to avoid thinking of him that way, especially while face-to-face. My fingers suffer for you. 
> 
> Also, my best friend in the entire world pressured me onto AO3. I knew ff.net. I knew its ways.  
> (She was right. AO3 makes so much more sense)


	7. First Proposal

Severus woke up with his stomach in knots, drenched in sweat. He dragged himself upright, one hand protectively curled against his stomach, and focused on relaxing each muscle back into some semblance of usability. His lips curled into scowl. The covers underneath his hand were soaked and warm, and he thrust the duvet to the bottom of the bed in a lump with his feet.  
Today he was going to try and persuade Hermione Granger to marry him. A knife of pain shot up his back at the thought and he closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing. He needed only a few clear-minded moments to Occlude away the anxiety.

His thoughts whirled around him, not giving him the purchase he craved. She was going to laugh at him, he knew that - in fact, he had already forgiven her for it. He could work with her laughter, persuade the intellectual inside her. And he knew she would not laugh the same way Potter or the Weasley would once they heard - another spasm rocked him.

Severus had suffered through enough of these attacks to know that it wasn't real, this pain. He wasn't dying. But it was hard to convince himself of that as his heartrate galloped. Deep breath in, deep breath out.

If she only chuckled, he could cope. But if her eyes reflected disgust, if she looked at him with those big brown eyes widened with horror at the thought… well, he wasn't quite sure that disappointing his dark master was worse.

But no, he knew that in order to win the war, he needed to stay within his Master's inner circle. Severus would have to dance a pretty dance if he failed to even ask her. And after what Dumbledore had said...

Deep fucking breath. He could do this.

Slowly, his shields clicked back into place, protecting his own mind from the insanity that lurked beneath. He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to plot a rational approach. This was the noble thing to do, so that her decision could be made knowing all the options. If, after she heard him out, she decided she couldn't do it… Well, then he would hear out the Headmaster's plan.  
He could always bring her breakfast, if it were still early enough, and tell her that they needed to talk. She would gaze up at him and -

He felt his thoughts pressing against the barrier and sighed. Evidently he was not going to be allowed to plan this one out.

Dragging himself out of bed and sending the two empty vials back to the lab, he regarded the clear mouthguard with interest. It would serve him well on nights like last night, and was therefore a thoughtful gift. Even if he had spat it out at some point during the night, so that it lay gleaming on his pillow.

Perhaps he ought to gift her something in return. It might make his suite more appealing if he accompanied it with a rare book from his collection and sneakily worked in the fact that his library would be hers once they were married.

Somehow he doubted Miss Granger was quite so mercenary as to allow merely the books to persuade her, but it might tip the odds.

He pinched again, harder. He could feel the headache he often endured following Crucio-heavy nights hovering in the shadows and whilst he wanted to avoid it Pain Relievers were another potion he was becoming too dependent on.

He'd read of Potion's Masters who grew so sick and addicted to that which they brewed that they gave up on real life, consuming pint after pint of dreamless and more arcane potions for merely an hour of rest or fantasy at a time.

He would not be like them, not until they had lost this damn war.

The air here was blessedly cool against his skin as he walked stiltedly towards the bathroom he had demanded be his alone - conditions of his staying in this godforsaken house over the summer. His knees were not quite bending, stiff and angry. Damn things carried a grudge as well as he did.

Leaning his forehead against the shower tiles, he allowed the warm water to stream down, sticking his black hair to his face. It was only now, as he felt the heat soften his knees, that he thought to wonder how the Granger girl had known that heat would help with his tremors. He should ask her. It seemed important.

The thought faded as he massaged his neck, hoping that the headache would bugger off. It did not, although he did note that it wasn't, at least, getting worse.

How many more months of this could his body take before it finally gave up, he wondered. How many more weeks until his knees no longer unlocked and his shields no longer came down, and all he felt every day were the aftereffects of the crucio chasing itself up and down his spine?

Would his mind break?  
Would a life with the Longbottoms be better?

He shook himself and turned his attention to the dregs of his collection he'd brought with him to Grimmauld - what would the chit find interesting? Perhaps Ermine's treatise on the benefits and dangers of teaching potions to young children. But that seemed too… presumptuous. As though he were asking her to provide him with children. Aurette's study of recreational potions and side-effects was also worth a read, but he didn't want Granger to think he were some kind of drug addict.

He pulled himself out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his hips. He dried his hands carefully.

His fingers traced the bindings on the bookshelf - some leather, some wood, some darker substances - and tried to think of what he would want, were he Miss Granger. Nothing of his collection came to mind. His fingers paused and, lifting his head, he saw that he caressed an old muggle book he had rescued from his mother's belongings when she had died. Pride & Prejudice.

He smirked. Seemed somehow appropriate. 

His nerves seemed a little quieter now, and with a complex motion involving three fingers and a spiral, he summoned a hot cup of tea from downstairs. He cracked open the book and began reading, his lips quirking as he drew parallels between the way he and Miss Granger had reconnected over the summer and the too formal introductions between the Austen characters.  
Perhaps she would appreciate the irony.

It was only once the tea grew cold that he realised he was procrastinating. The chit would be pacing a hole through the earth soon if he didn't go and talk to her. Sighing, Severus stood up, cursing his knees. He walked the length of the room to remove their stiffness - he wouldn't appear weak before anyone in this house - and sighed again before he opened the door. Today was going to be a long day.

\--

Hermione was, as he expected, in the lab. It had become usual for him to open the door and feel her presence, smell her hair or hear her humming to fill the silence. Now, he was going to talk to her and she was probably never coming back to his little haven - not that he minded the loneliness. He was solitary most of the time he wasn't teaching, after all. He'd been brewing for the Order alone for so many years he could barely remember how to be mindful of another person. But it would certainly be... different.

He knew, objectively, that she was only here to hear an explanation - after the very real manifestation of his other duties last night she would probably be scared witless. But if there were one thing the Granger girl excelled at, it was being courageous in the hunt for answers.

He hovered at the bottom of the stairs, studying her through the doorway to the store cupboard. She had a piece of paper levitating to her right at roughly head height, and another one attached to a clipboard resting on her knee. She was flicking her eyes between the two and the shelf of potion ingredients, clearly taking inventory. It was a task he had been planning to do for a few days now but kept putting off. He smiled.

"Miss Granger, a word?" He asked softly.

She jumped, and turned to him, but her lips continued to mouth numbers. "Just a moment, sir. Sorry. Don't want to lose count." And she turned back to the inventory. The paper above her head - he still hadn't quite figured out what it was, although it appeared to be colour coded - fluttered and she swore and made a note.

Then she lay both the clipboard and her flying paper down on a shelf and emerged into the lab properly.

She was in her favourite sweater and it clung to her and suddenly all he wanted to do was feel how soft it was against his fingers.

Focus, man.

"Miss Granger, please, take a seat. Thank you for doing the inventory."

"Oh, it was no trouble at all, sir. After I took advantage of your supplies last night, I thought I should do a full inventory, that way we only need to order once. I compared the ingredients we need for the rest of the requests from Madam Pomfrey with what we have on stock, and there are a few places we were running low. I'll…" Here she flicked her tongue across her lower lip nervously. Severus' eyes tracked it for a moment. "I'll pay for the replacements myself, sir, since I brewed additional potions last night."

"You will do no such thing, Miss Granger. I am compensated by the Headmaster for any orders. Besides, I required those potions in the carrying out of my duties."

Her eyes darted to his and down again.

"Thank you, sir."

Silence. Severus was still awkwardly standing at the bottom of the stairs. He had half a mind to flee back up them and leave Hermione here alone, to get as far away from the Order and his Dark Lord as he could and die in peace. Unfortunately the Dark Mark made hiding… difficult.

"As you know, Miss Granger-"

"Hermione, please." She interrupted. He waited for the rage to wash over him over the interruption, but it didn't come. "'Miss Granger' makes me feel as though I've done something wrong."

He swallowed thickly. "Hermione, I went to the Dark Lord last night. He and I had a long conversation about you. Albus would rather I didn't tell you, but I think it is important that you know, so that you can act with all the facts in mind. You are an adult now, no longer a child, and... "

She frowned. "If you will get in trouble for telling me-"

"That is my decision to make." He felt so old, all of a sudden. She worried about him getting in trouble over disobeying Dumbledore, and he worried about dying for setting a foot wrong with his other master. This was wrong. She was too innocent to be dragged into this.

And yet he was going to tell her anyway.

Coward.

She nodded and thought for a moment, her lips pinched together in a way that reminded him strongly of Minerva. Minerva! Damn. She was going to murder him for this, this 'tainting' of her favourite student…

"Have you been asked to kill me?" she asked, the words spilling out of her as if they had been battling to be free this entire time.

There was no tension in her as she asked, her eyes wide and trusting, her face open. He was completely stunned and for a second couldn't inhale.

"No." He barked out, "No, Miss Granger. He has not asked me to do..." He couldn't even say the word, instead brandishing his hand at her - "that."

She sagged in front of him. "That's good." She smiled up at him. "I'm not sure I would know how to handle that kind of fear." There was a moment where he was staring into her eyes, into her relief, before it tightened up around him and he could feel her fear pressing against his chest. "And my parents?"

He surged across the room and grabbed her arms. Later, he would blame it on the unconscious legilimency, on feeling her fear as his own, but the truth was he reacted without thought. "Miss Granger, the Dark Lord has not asked me to murder anyone you know." She breathed a long sigh of relief and he smiled. "Not even Potter, surprisingly."

"Really?"

"Really. When you start teaching at Hogwarts, you take a blood oath to the castle and the Headmaster to protect all the students within. I take it seriously."

"But then, how did Quirrell..?"

"The Dark Lord didn't take any such vow, so when he controlled the vessel…" He trailed off, allowing her mind to make the next logical leaps by itself.

They stood, quiet for a moment, his hands still resting against that soft knit jumper, when the door slammed open and they jumped guilty apart.

"Hermione, are you down here?" Molly Weasley called out. Severus' eyes widened.

"Molly," Severus growled.

"Ah, there you are girl. How nice to see you. Severus."

The insufferable woman dragged Hermione into a hug, drowning the poor girl in her robes.

"I came down to apologise. I am so terribly sorry for what I said during the Order meeting. Arthur and I discussed it, and felt that I owed you an apology. I was just surprised, that was all."

Severus rolled his eyes and began preparing a potion - if nothing else, the act of brewing should keep him from Stunning her again, at least as long as she avoided ignorantly insulting one of his brightest students. Molly wasn't worth an exploded cauldron.

"Well," she continued, after a pause which Hermione didn't seek to fill. "I'm glad that's sorted. I really did feel awful about the whole thing, but it's in the past now."

Hermione made an animal-like squeak that Mrs Weasley clearly took for agreement, and Severus recognised as annoyance. She finally let go, and allowed Hermione to slide back into her stool.

"Well, I'll let you get back to brewing your little potions with Severus." She actually pat Hermione's head and walked quickly back up the stairs, slamming the door behind her.

Severus and Hermione exchanged a look and burst out laughing.

It had been a long time since Severus had laughed, and the sheer pleasure of it seemed to melt away the headache that had dogged him all morning.

"Well, that was… something else." Hermione said, wiping her eyes. "I think she just stole a forgiveness somehow?"

"That woman…" He shook his head. "I don't even have the words to describe it. She's so caught up in herself she can't see anything she does as wrong."

Hermione snorted, and for a few minutes they were silent, little puffs of amusement escaping her at intervals. Then she looked up at him intently. He slowly put down the knife.

"So, he doesn't want me dead. Then what?"

Severus sighed.

"He wants me to marry you."

He looked up into her still, pale face and was surprised that he had finally, after many long years of trying, rendered Hermione Granger speechless.

Ducking his head to hide behind his hair, he filled the silence with a rush of words. Awkwardness curled up his chest. "I know that I was on your list of undesirables, and believe me, I understand why. But I can put forward a strong case for your consideration, besides the fact that the Da- Volde-" he cursed his own weakness, finally managing to choke out, "He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named wants me to."

"Professor Snape, I-"

"Please, hear me out."

He dared a glance up at her, and saw that her lips were pressed together. This was his chance.

"I am a trained Potions Master, an academic, and a reader. We can talk about books, or research, or potions. I can cook and do household charms adequately. I'd never think of hindering your contributions to the Order or your career. You would never need to worry about my fidelity, but I will not ask that the appropriate fidelity charms be placed on you during our wedding." He felt bile rising in his throat, embarrassment forcing its way out of him, but pushed on. "I would never force myself on you or raise my hand to you. I have demonstrated some control over my anger, and know to remove myself from a situation when it becomes too intense." 

He maintained his stare at the floor and sucked in air. When Hermione said nothing, he continued the second half of his arguments.

"I have adequate funds to support you, should you wish to pursue further education, and have some contacts in that field. I would not require you to give me children, and..." He paused. "And, honestly, given the role that I play… I would not burden you for long, Miss Granger. No matter who wins the war, I will probably not live for a very long time. You don't see many old spies. Both sides are suspicious of me, and will have no more use for me if the war ends. Play your cards right and you can survive either scenario, either as the woman who put the Order first or as a Death Eater's bride." 

Severus stole another look up at her, and saw that she was sitting patiently, waiting for him to finish. It gave him the surge of confidence he needed to continue talking. If she interrupted him he would have withered.

"That isn't to say that I think this is the best path for you. There are several concerns which need to be weighed - primarily, and most obviously, I am a Death Eater. I use Dark Magic regularly, and you would probably be exposed to that. You will not need to care for me as you did last night, at least not regularly - I have been managing that alone for many years. But you would need to see or hear it, which I imagine would not be… comfortable. And the Dark Lord asked me to marry you in part in order to spy more closely on Harry now that you are graduated. That means that you and I will work closely in order to feed him false memories with misleading information - or decide between ourselves and Albus which of the facts we should share. It is a weighty burden."

A heavy silence seeped into the lab and Severus allowed Hermione the chance to think about what he was saying. It was uncomfortable, displaying this much of his thought process to another, and something he did so rarely he found himself wishing he had hidden the darker corners. But no, he was doing this because she deserved to make her decision knowing everything that he did. At least she hadn't laughed at him yet.

The door of his lab flew open again, and Severus considered bitterly whether to install automatic wards. He'd never had to think of it before the chit had started working here - nobody ever wanted to visit him.

Dumbledore stood at the top of the stairs, vibrating with anger and levitating his way down them. Severus rolled his eyes. The man could be needlessly dramatic and these shows of power were always so tiresome.

The force of the Headmaster's anger dragged Severus across the room and pressed him by the throat against the cool stones of the dungeon wall, curtailing any further thoughts. Hermione shrieked.

"Severus Snape, how dare you?" Dumbledore spat. Severus opened his mouth to answer but discovered he could only croak. "I gave you explicit orders to leave the poor girl alone."

"Headmaster!" Hermione shouted. Albus ignored her.

"I…" Severus attempted, but again the force of the Headmaster's magic cut him off.

"When Molly came to me and told me she caught you two in a tete-a-tete I hardly believed it, Severus. I trusted you. I asked you not to speak with Miss Granger. She is just a child, you cannot possibly be thinking of actually marrying her?" Severus' vision was greying at the edges, but he could see a mop of ginger hair quivering with excitement at the top of the stairs.

Finally, Dumbledore released his hold around Severus' throat and allowed him to slither down the wall. Severus' knees could catch him, but not hold. Disgruntled, he collapsed to the ground. Pride and Prejudice slipped from his pocket.

"Headmaster, she is 19. Legally, no longer a child-" The invisible ropes constricted again. Severus felt his rage curling in his gut. He was accustomed to letting other wizards bat him around with magic, torture him, and never raise a finger back, but the Headmaster had no right…

"Some excuse!" Molly called down the stairs. "You still call Fred and George children." Her eyes darkened with suspicion. "Just how long have you been admiring Miss Granger?"

Severus knew, intellectually, that the woman was trying to get a rise out of him, but that didn't stop the madness waiting deep inside. It erupted, throwing the Headmaster's chains away from him and propelling Severus upright and a few centimetres from the ground in unconscious magic.

"How dare you?" he spat, anger draining the colour from his face and lending a murderous edge to his every word. "I gave no thought to marrying Miss Granger until the Dark Lord asked it of me."

"How convenient. You always did prefer the Muggleborns." She smirked.

He still had enough self-control not to lash out at her, directing the full force of his rage into the Headmaster, forcing him backwards, up two of the steps. The Headmaster raised a shaking hand, forming a shield that domed around him, turning Severus' magic dark violet against its boundaries.

Molly gasped.

"I am not some abused dog!" Severus spat out. "If you push me, Albus, eventually I will stop begging at your heels for the scraps of comfort you offer and go elsewhere. There are only so many times you can kick me before I bite back." The Dark in him rose underneath the waves of magic like something primordial and he let it brush against Dumbledore's shields. He was shaking with the effort it took to control himself, hair dripping with sweat and jaw clenched tightly into a snarl. It wanted revenge. 

He wanted revenge.

The next time he spoke his voice was velvet. "I have given you everything. You ask that I return to the Dark Lord and tell him that I failed, knowing that he will kill me, that you will lose your ability to shield Potter through my efforts. I choose to disobey."

Then, as suddenly as it had arrived, the anger was gone. The room cleared of their magic as Severus and Albus lowered gently to the floor. Albus nodded.

"I am sorry, my boy. I forgot…" He stroked his beard. "I just worry for you. I know your depth of feeling towards Lily, and I fear for Hermione. She will never be first in your affections and that is a hard thing for a wife to learn."

Severus flinched.

"But you are right. If you marry Miss Granger, you maintain the position you have occupied for some time, able to stand between the Dark Lord and young Potter and misdirect where needed." His eyes softened. "I leave it up to you."

Severus swallowed, his throat raw. "Did you mean what you said last night? About... Lily?"

Albus inclined his head. "I think Lily would have been shocked that you are thinking of marrying her son's best friend." He stopped, thinking. "But in time, she would come to forgive you."

"Forgive…" Severus shook himself. "Perhaps we should ask Miss Granger what she thinks?"

He turned towards her chair, and saw it had been knocked over in his struggle with the Headmaster. The potion he had started during Molly's first visit was belching black smoke into the air, thick, syrupy, burnt.

The worst, though, was that Hermione wasn't in the lab anymore. She had fled during their fight.

Bollocks.


	8. Low Voices in the Library

Severus took the stairs two at a time, allowing the anger in his chest to burn away his fear. If Dumbledore hadn’t interrupted… Damn it all. Now the chit had seen him being chastised like an errant schoolboy - if there were ever a chance that she would say yes, this would probably have ruined it. And if she'd heard what that meddling fool had said about Lily...

He grabbed Kreacher by the scruff of the neck as the house elf streaked past, aiming for the kitchen. “Where’s the girl?” he snarled.

“The mudblood is in the library, nasty little thing. Touching all the mistress’ books, she is. Defiling them with her sticky fingers.”

Severus felt his anger rise and then dissipate. If he took it out on Kreacher, then he was no less of a bully than the elf was pathetic. He was trying to be better. He sucked in a deep breath and nodded, releasing the creature. Kreacher pulled his ear and slipped away.

Sighing, Severus pulled his cloak over his shoulders and climbed the stairs to the library. He was a little out of breath after the show of magic he’d endured down there, both his own and the Headmaster’s, combined with the rush of his feet upstairs, so he took the remaining, creaking stairs slowly.

What would be her response to his speech? The woman was intelligent if nothing else, she would see what a great boon this would be for the light. On the other hand, this was a sacrifice bigger than she’d ever been asked to make before: not just her life on the line, but her future happiness.

He pushed open the door hesitantly. She was perched on the windowsill, her hair rustling in the light breeze from the open window. The sunlight pooled around her, contrasting her against the malaise of the house. He was struck dumb at the sight of her, at the realisation of his grave error, even as he soaked in the vision. How had he thought, even for a moment, that she might say yes.

Her skin shone a deep brown against her yellow tank top and white skirt, which folded in pleats. Her legs were crossed at the knee, and the skirt copied the hair in drifting lazily. Her fingers tapped the journal-now-cookbook, which she was holding to her chest as a child might hold a teddy bear.

He cleared his throat, and she turned to him. The darkness of the room enveloped her as she slipped down.

“Professor Snape.” Her tone was light, as though nothing had happened downstairs, but she stayed at the window. He forced himself to take a step closer. He would not flee.

“Miss Granger.” His mouth was dry. Fool man, he wasn't a teenager anymore. “I wanted to apologise.”

“What for?”

He stared at her. “For what happened downstairs. I lost control, after only recently expounding to you the virtues of control. It was un…” He paused. He had wanted to say unseemly, but that was old fashioned, picked up from his morning reading. “Unprofessional.”

“I’m surprised you didn’t hex him.” She smiled impishly, and he felt emboldened to walk the rest of the way across the room and join her at the window. At least here he could stare out into the street.

“He would have deserved it…” he muttered darkly. Then winced. It probably wasn’t the best way to apologise for having exploded dark magic everywhere - threatening to hex one of the girl’s favourite authority figures.

She giggled. Severus blinked in surprise.

“There’s no need to apologise. Although I understand what you meant about Krum now - if that was controlled Dark, I have no wish to see it given its head, so to speak.”

He glanced to her, and saw that the hairs on her arms had lifted up despite the heat.

“Yes, well.” He had never felt so thrown off guard, and could feel his shields forming to protect him. He wanted to ask her what her response was to the proposal - if only to put himself out of this misery of hope and fear - but she spoke before he found the words.

“Did the Headmaster come around?”

An old man was walking up the road slowly, a cane supporting his left leg and a shopping bag hanging from his left arm. Severus watched him.

“I think… I managed to persuade him.”

Hermione was looking at him - he could feel the weight of her gaze on his face - but the plastic bag was swinging hypnotically. It couldn't have been that he was scared to meet her gaze.

“You managed to persuade him…” she repeated thoughtfully. “You’re lucky. I’m not sure I’ve ever heard of the Headmaster being swayed before.”

He tore his eyes from the old man and back to her. They were once again too close - she’d hopped back up onto the windowsill while they’d been talking and his fingers were a breath away from brushing hers. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?

“What do you mean?”

“He’s manipulative. And callous. He has a plan and won’t deviate from it for anybody.”

He frowned. “I thought Gryffindors were supposed to worship him.”

“This is the man who left me as a statue and a cat for the majority of my second year. I had a lot of time to think about why he would do such a thing. All summer, while I was playing catch-up, in fact, as well as a huge chunk of that hospitalised time where I couldn’t move.”

Hermione's voice hardened as she spoke; her eyes had a dangerous glint in them that Severus hadn’t seen before.

“I’m sure the Headmaster would have freed you if he could,” Severus said, haltingly. He wasn’t sure it was true. Every time he’d had an hour spare to work on the experimental potion to bring Miss Granger back to her human, and later non-statue self throughout March, the Headmaster had sent him on a wild goose chase looking for the heir of Slytherin among his students. 

Hermione smiled, her lips pressed together. “If it had served his purpose, perhaps. But I think he quite liked having Harry fending for himself. It taught him not to depend on anyone, gave him something to fight for. The Headmaster admitted it - not in so many words - when he was taking me to see my parents. ‘I know you are angry, Miss Granger, but Harry came through for us’. He uses people. Like giving Harry that damned cloak.”

“Ah, the cloak of invisibility.” Severus felt bitterness rise in the back of his throat at all the trouble that had brought - both during his student years and once Potter was back in his classes. “A rule-breaker’s dream.”

“Exactly! Who on earth gives that to a child in a magical and dangerous school? Especially the one child who attracts trouble like iron filings.”

Severus didn’t respond, his eyes staring unseeingly at the leaves of a tree shuffling in the breeze. The Headmaster had been manipulating him last night, he realised. If Severus had managed to persuade Dumbledore, he'd done it yesterday - today's show had been something else. That was why he had backed down so suddenly. Severus had no doubts that if the Headmaster thought it better for Harry Potter that his best friend marry somebody not quite so repellent, then he would have banished Severus from the house as soon as his magic reared its head.

He groaned. It was an unintended, feral noise that caused Hermione to jump.

“Quite right, Miss Granger. Quite right.”

She turned to stare out into the street alongside him, their shoulders touching briefly before he shuffled awkwardly to the side to make room for her. He could feel the Cooling charms rapidly fading and feared the moment the heat would hit him - the damp sweat of nerves was bad enough.

“I suppose you should call me Hermione, after what happened.”

He dipped his head, allowing his hair to shield his face from her. He focussed on his breathing to dispel the small smile that wanted to crinkle his lips upwards - she wasn’t saying yes, he reminded himself. He was overthinking this. But she also wasn’t laughing or throwing up, both huge wins, so he couldn’t prevent the smile spilling out from his eyes.

“I should apologise to you as well," she said softly. He darted a glance at her from between his locks, her face stately in profile. “I didn’t think you’d seen your name in the lists.”

“Ah.” His heart squeezed in pain. “No need.”

“I think there is.” She turned to him, a strap of her top slipping distractedly down her shoulder as she did so. She didn’t notice. “I put you on that list - alongside Lupin and Minerva - because I thought that having a relationship with a recently graduated pupil would destroy your career. I didn’t think for a second that you would agree to sacrificing your solitude to rescue me, particularly given how important that solitude is to your... duties in the order. If I had known you’d seen it, I would have explained sooner. So.” She took in a deep breath and let it shudder out. “I’m sorry, Professor Snape. And thank you for trying to help me.”

“Severus.”

“Sorry?” 

“I’m no longer your professor. In fact, I am your suitor.” His lips curled around the word sensuously and he blushed at how ridiculous this was - first, Austen was spoiling his vocabulary towards the absurdly romantic, and second, he’d never thought of himself as anybody’s suitor before. “And therefore, you ought to call me Severus.”

“I suppose it would be a little odd if we were to marry, and I were to still call you Professor Snape.”

He shuddered in disgust. “Very, very odd.” There were many words one might use to describe that. Strange. Disturbing.

She pursed her lips. “Harry isn’t going to like this.”

“Like what?” 

“Our marriage?”

His heart stopped beating. “You haven’t said yes.”

“You haven’t actually asked."

Relief radiated through his body. He slipped onto one knee, ignoring the stab of pain. “Hermione Granger, would you do this old Potions teacher the honour of fulfilling your ministry-ordained duties and becoming my wife?”

For a moment, he thought he’d taken the sarcasm too far - maybe she was the type of woman who wanted a fairytale wedding and a romantic proposal she could tell all her friends about. After all, he only ever teased Minerva, and that was infrequent: he could easily have misread the conversation.

She laughed, joyously and without self-consciousness, and he felt his chest tighten. This could still be a joke, couldn’t it? She could be planning to sell these bloody memories, auction them off: he was sure they’d fetch a lot. Plenty of enemies in this profession.

“I find myself in need of a good anchor to wizarding society," she said, wiping the corner of her eye with her fingers. “So yes, I will marry you.”

He stood, masking the difficulties he had with straightening said bended knee by gripping the windowsill tightly, and smiled stupidly at her. He slapped his lips together quickly, before she saw the crooked yellow mess she’d promised herself to. Weren’t her parents dentists? He vaguely remembered Minerva talking about it before, during the teeth incident of their second year. A bead of sweat slipped down his nose. He hurried to fill the silence. “When shall we complete the engagement? I believe you have until the end of summer before the Ministry start chasing you, so that’s two months, month and a half?”

“I’d rather not wait. No offense, sir, but given the political climate, you could be sent away from Hogwarts at any moment, were someone to learn of your… activities. So it would be best if we were secure quickly.”

“Very self-serving.” He meant it as a compliment, but saw her wince. Gryffindors. “I agree with you: my position is not stable, and my death imminent. We should get the wedding over with. Which means I should let Albus and Minerva know that you’ve accepted my suit.”

“Your suit?” she asked, her eyes dancing. 

Sighing, he Accio’d the book and handed it to her with a small bow. She grinned up at him, her fingers caressing the page. “Which couple are we?” she asked.

He ignored the question, ridiculous as it was.

"Probably Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Darcy - you are very stern sometimes."

Severus flinched. Mr Darcy was also rather proud, and focusing on one's faults straight after a proposal wasn't exactly promising. He rushed to interrupt her. “I forgot to mention that our marriage will allow you access to my substantial library. I will ensure that the more dangerous books are secured for now. If you wish to peruse them later, I will be happy to teach you how to access them - but only if you are trained properly. As I said before, Dark Magic is... Anyway, I have enough other books to keep you occupied for a time regardless. And if that isn't enough, if you reside with me in Hogwarts you will have access to the school library. At all times.”

Her eyes lit up, as he had expected them to, but he felt an odd gladness that it had slipped his mind earlier - she had agreed to marry him without the additional incentive. That was worth something.

“Can I see them? Your collection?” 

“Not before we are married. I told you, I need to make preparations. Besides, some of them attack all but the family they belong to if you were to touch them.”

Hermione's eyebrows raised but the gleam of excitement didn’t fade. He wondered if she’d ever leave his library.

“Are you free this Saturday?” she asked, grabbing his wrist impulsively. "The weather is supposed to be lovely, and I know mum and dad have the day off."

“We have brewing to do this Saturday, as well you know Miss Granger. However, I shall speak to Madame Pomfrey and Dumbledore, and see if the school can stretch to buying in a few additional potions to cover our absence.”

“And you know that we’re stocking up for more than a year’s supply of potions,” she pointed out, her arms crossed across her chest. “We are stocking up for war. A war that might not be coming.”

He did know that, although he hadn’t realised she’d figured it out. “Well, the war won’t wait another day so we can get married.”

“And we have already stocked twice as many potions as we need for the school year. There’s not an end to this. We’ll be brewing every day until the fighting begins! Let’s take a day for ourselves.”

“And do what?”

“Get married!”

“Ah.” He paused for a moment. The words were bitter on his tongue, but they needed to be said. “That is quite soon. Are you sure you don’t want some time to reconsider? You might regret this in the morning.”

She laughed, her head tilting back and exposing her throat to him. He had an irrational urge to smell it, as though it were a rare ingredient. He curled his hands into fists instead. He would not start taking liberties with her just because they were married - it was a marriage of convenience, not a love match. He could respect that, and by doing so, her.

“I think we’re good. I have a library to get to.”

He couldn’t help but grin back at her. His heart felt like it was ballooning up, out of his chest. Like this wasn’t just a marriage to placate his dark Master and infuriate the other, but the possibility of partnership. Severus Snape was letting himself hope.

Hermione grimaced. “I really don’t want to tell Harry and Ron.”

Ice formed around his chest, exploding that balloon into fragments. It was expected that the chit would be ashamed of him, he reminded himself, struggling to stay calm. After the battle of wills downstairs, his magic was snapping at the leash to get free again. She was young, bright, untainted. She didn't deserve this.

He didn't deserve this.

Hermione ran her hands through her hair, pulling at a clump of it and sighed, twisting back to stare out of the window again. Her fingers beat out a pattern of drums on the cook book.

“If Potter and Weasley have complaints,” Severus said, cooly. “Then I am happy to take them. Preferably somewhere quite remote.”

She gasped and then giggled. “The complaints or the boys?” She asked, her grin wide and fleeting. Her eyes danced with amusement.

Severus hadn’t been so fascinated by a woman in decades. Since before she was born. The thought brought him up short, frayed at his new-born joy.

This was a mistake. He needed to persuade her out of this, before she got hurt.

“Hermione-” he began.

“Hermione! There you are! Dumbledore said-” Harry Potter barreled into the room in a haze of arms and legs, stopping short when he saw that she wasn’t alone. He nodded in a parody of respect to his old professor. “Snape.” 

Hermione nudged him gently with her shoulder. Severus raised an eyebrow.

“I can see you two have a lot to catch up on. I will get started on the preparation we discussed, Miss Granger. Good day, Potter.”

“Are you free tonight, Severus?” she asked as he reached the door.

He nodded curtly, but didn’t turn around.

“Severus?” Harry whispered, his voice echoing loudly from the walls. As subtle as a siren, as always. “Since when are you calling him Severus?”

Severus finally allowed himself to smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the most romantic proposal, but it is only his second attempt!


	9. Wedding Planner

Severus carefully added the powdered newt into the cauldron, turning it clockwise three times. He was resolutely not looking at Hermione's sweater - still crumpled on the bench - because any slip in concentration could be fatal - this was not a potion that was kind to distractions. But he could swear, whenever he turned his head, that he caught the faintest smell of lavender. It awns't that he was desperate, but Severus hadn't seen his fiance since he'd proposed over a day ago, and he found himself turning his head more often, searching for that scent, when-

Bam!

The house trembled as though an earthquake had hit it. Molly Weasley’s voice screached “George? Fred?”, a primordial cry Severus could hear even from the basement.

Seconds later the pair of Weasleys were in the lab, grins stretching their cheeks ear-to-ear.

“Whattcha Snape.”

“What was that?”

“Sounded... fun.”

Severus, his hands burnt and his face decidedly pink, scowled at them from his stool.

“Where’s the burn salve, Snape?” 

“Here, Fred.” Fred threw it across the room to George.

“Nice one, George,” George said, unscrewing the lid and offering the cool contents to Severus.

Severus cast several wandless diagnostic charms on the salve before he used it. He could be called many things, but he was no fool, and these two had been pranking him and everyone else in sight since they were six years old.

“So, want to tell us what that was?” Fred asked, looking through Severus’ stores.

“Don’t touch anything.” Both sets of eyes looked at him expectantly, fingers poised. “A brewing accident.”

“Well we know that," George pointed out, sealing the jar of Burn Salve and placing it on the workbench, his voice long-suffering. “But we want to know the recipe.”

“We’re expanding our range.”

“Got some seriously powerful weapons for the kids.”

“You know, once it all kicks off.”

The two stared at him expectantly. He frowned. "Why? I don't want the classroom to be any more of a fight than it already is."

“Don’t tell Dumblebore,” Fred said. “But we’re fairly sure that Hogwarts will be the scene of the final battle.”

“Old Volty does have an obsession with the school.”

“And if it’s at the school during term time, there will be lots of kids about.”

“Probably our sister, too.”

“Probably. Gets into a lot of trouble, our Ginny. Don’t know where she gets it from. All her siblings are such fine, up-standing folks.”

“So we wanted to give them ways to protect themselves. That was where we started.”

“But now we have moved on to the adults. Why can’t they wear shielding charms around their necks or have pens that when twisted… explode?”

They turned back to him and raised their left eyebrows in sync.

“So you’re essentially Q?” Severus asked, reluctantly. “Only for the whole of Wizarding Britain?”

“Q?” Fred tugged at his left ear.

“You should ask Potter to show you a James Bond film.” Severus ran a hand through his hair. “You’d love them. Might even get a few ideas.”

"But will you tell us what that was?"

"...Fine. I'll write it up and send it to you tonight."

George and Fred grinned at one another. “Thanks, Snape.”

“Oh, one thing. Don’t tell mum. Clearly.”

“Although honestly I’m not sure she’d believe you.”

“She’s been pissed at you for days. Takes the heat off of us quite nicely.”

“Or it did. We’ll tell her this was us.”

“Cover for you.”

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t need you to cover for me. This is an experimental lab - things are going to go wrong.”

“Nah, you don’t. But we want to work with you.”

“After the war.”

“You’ve got some pretty wicked ideas. If we tone it down, a potion like this could make Exploding Snap look like child’s play.”

“Which it is.”

“Right.”

Severus had barely been able to squeeze a word in edgeways, but they were quieter as they climbed the stairs. “Wait, Weasleys!”

“People usually call us ‘Twins',” Fred said, turning back to him. "Weasleys might get confusing around here."

“But you…” George studied him for a moment. "You may call us Forge.”

Severus raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me anything more about the inventions you’re preparing. If I have any good ideas for defensive tricks I’ll let you know, but I should be in the dark for everything else. Keep the knowledge to a small group until it’s time to distribute them. After the war” - if he’s still alive - “you can fill me in. If you still want to.”

“Oh, we will. You’re the only person besides Bill we’ve told.”

“And that was only because we wanted him to test the shielding necklace against a dragon.”

“It worked. Mostly.”

They exchanged smug grins and scampered up the stairs out of the lab. He could just hear them apologising to Molly for the shaking as the door swung shut.

It was the first time anybody had spoken to him since Hermione had come to the lab and explained that she was staying with her parents until Saturday, that her mother was hysterical and somehow it was all Potter’s fault. It felt nice to have allies, even if they were odd.

He looked down at the burnt cauldron and sighed. Something for tomorrow's Severus to clear up - right now, with soot staining his face, all Severus wanted was a shower and a lie down. He hadn't eaten well since Hermione's rushed explanation, his stomach cramping at the idea that her parents were going to persuade her out of it, show her how awful an idea this marriage was, and Severus... it was no longer just to humour the Dark Lord that he wanted this marriage to work. If she was his bride, he could protect her, surely? More than he could now, anyway.

He dragged himself out of the basement and up the stairs to his room, casting a Shielding Charm as he did so - he still didn't trust Molly not to try and get some sneaky revenge, and with the twins visiting... It was better to be prepared for anything.

An owl fluttered at the top of the stairs as he made his way up, letting go of its burden with an angry squawk when it saw him, and winging its way towards the kitchen. Severus scooped the letter up from the floor, recognising Hermione's handwriting instantly. He waited until he was safely in his rooms, his hands stinging, before he slid the envelope open.

_“Severus,  
My parents are insufferable. My mother swings from being happy I found a man at all, given the deadline, to interrogating me on our relationship. Ever since I told them about the Marriage Law they’ve been trying to persuade me to snap my wand, and my mother is convinced I have gone a bit balmy.  
If I have, it’s because she has driven me to it.  
At least my father is consistently disapproving.  
I am sorry we didn’t get the chance to chat for longer on Tuesday afternoon, but after Harry went ahead and told my parents straight away...  
Anyway, that wasn’t why I wrote to you - I need your help. Planning a wedding is exhausting and I’ve been dragged around 10 venues today. I can’t do that again. They were the only ones she found that were still free on Saturday. I tried to tell her I didn’t really want a ceremony at all but she started whining ‘Oooooh Hermiiioooneeeee, you’re my only daughter and you won’t even let me see you get married’.  
See, it will be a wonder if I come back sane.  
So we need a small venue. I suppose at least 3 of my friends and Professor McGonagall will come. I don’t know how many you’d like to invite, but can you rent a venue for me and send back the floor plan? I’m swamped with about a thousand other things to decide, I have an appointment today so I don’t have time for yet another goosechase, and I don’t give a flying fig regardless. Oh, and somebody to register us, I have no idea how any of that works in the Wizarding World so I’m afraid that responsibility falls to you.  
I have to sign off now, dear anchor. We have somebody bringing cakes around the house for me to try. I wish we had eloped.   
Best,  
Hermione”_

The panic in her letter made Severus chuckle.

He half-considered marrying her in the lab. Easy enough to move the tables out of the way so that her parents had somewhere to sit. Minerva and the rest could bloody well stand, since Severus would have to. He was half-way through composing a reply, accusing her of trying to set another bloody world record by being the first witch to be divorced before she was married, and if she wanted to have a venue she could bloody well go herself- but… this was the first thing Miss Grang- Hermione had ever asked him to do, and he didn’t want to fail straight out of the park. What a precedent that would set.

Slipping her letter into his pocket, he decided to drop in on the Malfoys instead. They knew more about this sort of thing - and they were all edgy with the Dark Lord's latest moods. It affected Draco and Narcissa most, because they'd never really signed up for it in the first place. Born into the wrong family. Though they could both be snobby enough. 

Predictably, Narcissa was in the lounge, smoking. Her head lolled against the back of the sofa as Severus spilled out of the Floo.

“He told me," she said, her voice raspy. The edge had been taken out of it, causing her words to spill over into one another and slip unheeded into the room. Severus sat next to her on the sofa, and her head moved to rest on his shoulder. “Lucius is livid," her lips whispered against his neck as she spoke and Severus shifted uncomfortably. She always got like this when she was high… boneless and intimate. "We always thought you would get to choose your own spouse, in the end."

“Narcissa,” he said, keeping his words soft. She nuzzled his earlobe. “I need you to sober up, darling.”

She pouted, her eyes slitting. “No. It hurts that way. This way is better...” She shifted on the couch, her twist hiking the skirt up further. “The world is so much easier to handle when I'm not myself.”

He turned to the side, pushing her gently from his shoulder, and wrapped a hand around her face, angling her towards him. “I know it hurts. But I need the real Narcissa right now. I need to find a venue.”

“A venue for that little godfors-” He watched her pull herself inwards, shuddering with the effort. And then she nodded. “The Dark Lord will…” She huffed air out of her nose in a sharp burst and nodded once, searching for words that wouldn't get her in trouble. It was a minute before she found her tongue, casting a small charm above her head to bleed the poison out, and stubbing out the cigarette. Severus mourned for the woman she could have been, had she not married young and at her family's behest. She was lonely, disgusted by Death Eaters and bored of everyone else.

“I still have a list from when we were planning Draco and Pansy’s wedding. Such a nice family, even if she’s terribly thick.”

She accio’d her party planning journal across the room and cracked it open over her knees. He wasn’t a hundred percent sure she was sober, but if this was the best she could do for him then it was all he would ask.

She ran a manicured nail across the page and the book shuddered and re-opened at Draco’s wedding. A pulse of annoyance flashed in those clear eyes as she ran over the plans.

“He was only 14."

“If the boy had done it a little more privately instead of infront of all our friends and family, maybe she wouldn’t be so vulgar," she replied, without looking up. “It’s distasteful, the way she pursues him. And embarrassing for Previati. If I ever become a great-grandmother smother me in my sleep.”

Severus squeezed her shoulder gently. “You know I will do no such thing. And neither of us are likely to live to be her age.”

Narcissa’s fingers reached up to intertwine with his as she read, though she didn’t deign to respond.

“Alright,” Narcissa said, drawing herself from the couch with a sudden burst of energy, swinging around and making eye contact for the first time. “I will make you look at 3 places. If and only if you reject the first one, will I show you the second.”

He pinched the top of his nose. “Narcissa, please, this is important.”

“Why? It's more fun if it's a game - and it means you might actually make a decision.” He couldn’t really respond to the arched eyebrow or the gleam in her eyes. Narcissa having fun was something of a novelty. And he had come in part to cheer her up.

She pulled on white, beaded gloves and held her hand out to him expectantly. He smiled as he took it, placing it gently in the crook of his elbow. The woman’s moods were more unpredictable than the weather. It made him long to be back in the lab with Hermione, with her sensible, logical mind.

“Where to?” he murmured. He wasn't letting her Apparate.

“Just the London flat.” She fluttered her lashes at him, and he rolled his eyes. “I’ll take over from there, darling.”


	10. Summer Roses

Severus could feel them whispering as the minutes ticked by, as if someone was breathing down his neck. Potter was the worst, permanently attached to Ron Weasley’s ear, who in turn was glaring mutinously at Snape.

Severus shifted his weight from one foot to the other and resisted the urge to sigh. Or pinch his nose. Or run a hand through his hair, which would certainly ruin the charm he’d attempted this morning. Narcissa had wheedled and whined and brought her considerable - and annoying - powers to bear on him to have him cut it much shorter in preparation for looking his “best”, but luckily Severus could more than hold his own.

His eyes swept the assembled again, pausing to note that Mrs Weasley, who had invited herself, was rearranging one of the flower arrangements at the back. She had studiously avoided coming anywhere close to the podium since he had arrived. Arthur, who had offered Severus a handshake, was sitting with both arms and ankles crossed and his eyes closed. Waiting, no doubt, for the Muggles.

Miss Granger was late. Given that this was rather unusual for the witch, his stomach was cramping insistently in panic. He was sweating profusely, despite the many layered cooling charms he’d surrounded himself with, and that was not only feeding the nerves but also the anger that was his ever constant and unwelcome companion. 

How dare she?

If she stood him up in front of this many people he was abandoning it all - as soon as the fucking war was over he was moving somewhere remote and not leaving a forwarding address. He was secret-keeping his house. He was becoming the new dark lord so he could obliverate every damn one of the attendees - even Frorge. 

A loud, shrill noise and Severus’ wand fingers twitched. His eyes scanned the area for danger - and the little bird, perched on the fountain, studied him for a moment before tweeting again. 

In order to keep from making an absolute fool of himself and storming from the little archway serving as an altar, Severus forced himself into long, deep breaths. He sunk below his shields, feeling them enclose him as though he were safe in his bubble, secluded and separate from the press of people. Closing his eyes, he took a long breath through his nose, identifying each unique smell that twined together throughout the space, accepting each one as neither good nor bad. He’d been taught to do this during his last year at Hogwarts by Lucius, a calming technique that supposedly worked for Lucius’ mother when she had to go out into Muggle London. Her anxieties at being stared at, at being the odd one out, about getting dirty had resonated with the young Severus who felt the same damn way about being the center of attention.

And then there Hermione was, her unique scent of summer and coconuts calling to him from among the roses. It tore his focus away from himself and back into the thick of it, because he wanted to see her.

He needed to make sure she was safe, and more than that, that this was something she wanted. If there was even a hint she’d changed her mind Severus would handle it, take all the punishment from both masters. He would not, would never force her into something against her will.

Hermione was breathing hard, as though she had run here - which made Severus feel rather less forlorn - and clutching a tall man’s hand. Her father, if Severus’ instincts were right. He was currently whispering into her ear as she gave him a death glare, partially hidden behind her bouquet of forget-me-nots.

It seemed Severus barely had time to blink before she was walking down the aisle, colour still high in her cheeks, music playing and the twenty-or-so people in between them standing. She looked… well, Severus couldn’t say she looked happy, per se, but satisfied. It thrummed from her.

The dress was cut off just below the knee, somehow making her seem taller. She had no veil, but she’d entangled her hair and, somehow, some diamonds into a braid over her forehead. She was stunning. Severus could hardly believe his luck.

“I am so sorry we’re late,” she murmured, slipping her hand into his. “My dad has a… a problem with time management.”

He raised an eyebrow. 

A blush stained her cheeks and chased down her neck. “He might have done it on purpose. But I don’t want to fight with him today.”

She slipped a smile over her features and glanced around the benches. He wondered if she would notice their guests as he did - whether she would see their collected disapprobation.

Minerva with her hands tightly clasped, her lips pressed together in distaste. Albus, with his dotty old man persona, a lemon drop firmly twisted into his beard. Potter, a hand on Ron’s shoulder to stop the young man from charging forward, the latter more red than his hair. Lavender seemed as though she’d rather be anywhere else than here, studiously looking at her nails rather than the proceedings. Hermione’s father, his face set in stone, jaw clenched. 

How dare all these people sit there and judge him when he’d saved her? It wasn’t as if half of them didn’t know the alternative that lay before them. The anger tightened around his shoulders and the back of his neck. Luckily he spotted Luna Lovegood in the front row, earrings dancing in the sun - literally, as tiny brides were suspended below each ear, boogying. Nobody had seen her in six months, but this morning she’d just shown up at the wards and dreamily waved at him to be let in. 

His shoulders loosened. They were a bunch of incompetent fools trying to save the world and keep it in the right place. Of course they blamed him, of course they judged him - he was the easier thing to judge. They couldn’t hold everything that the Dark Lord had done, all the evil that he was, together enough to see him.

Severus was a monster, but at least he was still a human one.

With a dry cough the officiant interrupted. Francis, Severus thought. Or Frederick. The man made Severus’ skin crawl. He may have been the dotty old man Dumbledore had based his act upon; he had offered Severus tea when he’d called around the Ministry to arrange the process and then promptly forgotten to brew it, and several times he had stood up, walked to the door, and then looked back at Severus as though wondering how the Potions Master had broken into his office.

Still, if his forgetfulness was genuine it would help. Severus couldn’t really go around Obliverating Ministry Employees, especially with all the lifts charmed to scan for the signs.

Francis asked them both if they were ready, and he squeezed Hermione’s wand hand, searching her face once more. “Last chance,” he mouthed.

She just grinned at him.

The trees whispered in a light breeze, their leaves rustling together.

“By the power vested in me by the Ministry,” he said solemnly. “I bind you together.” A long white ribbon began issuing from his wand, wrapping their wrists together as he continued to speak. “In power and without, in sickness and in health, in happiness and sorrow, do you swear to protect, hold and cherish one another until death?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes.” Her voice had an undercurrent of something Severus couldn’t identify, thick with emotion.

“Yes,” Severus echoed.

The officiant did something with his wand to cut the ribbon, and it began to twist, tightening around their hands. Hermione’s gaze snapped to Severus’, eyes wide, an alertness speared through her body. 

Seveurs swallowed, kept his features neutral and welcoming, and ran his thumb over her fingers. The wizarding world was so big and changeable all the time, but to be Hermione, to have trusted in it so completely and to have been bitten so many time - by teachers and books - it was understandable she was skittish.

“You are now witch and wizard, bound together for eternity. May you treasure and protect one another in ever greater heights.” He blinked at Severus, who twitched his head. He wans’t done with the man yet.

And then it was over. She slipped her hand out of his when the ribbon fell to the floor, scooping it up and folding it neatly. Her mother was by her side before he could blink. “That was a bit short, wasn’t it dear? No hymns? No sermon?” Her father, standing stiff by her side, bristled at Severus.

Severus sighed and turned towards the table full of champagne.

He was picking up a flute when he overheard his name. He focussed on drifting out of awareness as he stalked closer to them, his mind becoming a smooth stone.

“It’s just not right,” Ron was saying. “Hermione may not be the love of my life, but she’s one of my closest friends. What can Dumbledore think, forcing her to marry Snape, of all people?”

“I know,” Molly said, patting him on the shoulder. “Tying such a sweet little thing to a Death Eater, well, that just begs the question.”

He shuddered. Given that the woman had been screaming at said sweet little thing only days earlier, he could almost admire how easily Molly slipped behind masks. He knew Dumbledore would never question the ginger witch, despite Severus’ misgivings.

“Cheer up,” Harry said, glumly. “It’s done now. She’s married to the bastard. At least she didn’t have to wait until the automatic sorting. Who knows what sort of crone I’ll end up with.”

“Harry what are you talking about?” Ron said, running his hand through his hair. “Dumbledore’ll figure it out.”

Why did everyone keep repeating those words as if by repetition they could make them fact? Severus knew that the Headmaster was struggling, as did all the Order members. There just didn’t seem to be a suitable enough candidate.

“All I’m saying, Ron, that it’s better the devil you know, you know?”

“Not sure that really applies here, mate. Snape’s a right ugly bastard. Any random wizard would be better for her, don’t you think?”

His magic bristled across his skin, drawn out by his anger. Severus realised with a start that his hands were shaking. He was torturing himself, listening to this nonsense. Miss Granger - Mrs Snape, if she chose to go by his name - had made her choice.

Merlin, he needed to get out of here. He whirled and stalked through the little garden, past the wall of water and out into the maze, toying with the champagne flute.

“Severus,” Minerva said, placing a light, wrinkled hand on his arm. Sometimes he thought she was part bird, she seemed to weigh so little. “I just wanted to say congratulations.” He snorted. “No, really. I think the two of you are unconventional, it’s true, but you are both stubborn enough to make it work. If that’s what you both choose to do.”

He stared down his nose at her, oddly touched by her words but refusing to let her see it. She sighed and clasped him on the upper arm. “I believe I saw a bride heading that way.” She tilted her head towards the entrance to a small maze.

“Thank you, Minerva. Have you spoken with her at all?”

“I have.” She patted the upper part of his arm with the other papery hand and smiled. “Have you?”

Truthfully, other than that whispered conversation before their binding was complete, he had not spoken to his wife since he’d proposed.

It had been a short engagement, to be sure, but even so.

He found Hermione sitting behind a rose bush, her nose in a book. Of course she’d run off, and left him the trouble with handling their guests.

“Didn’t fancy revelling in the love of friends and family?” He asked, plucking up his suit trousers at the knee and sitting beside her, careful not to brush against her.

“Severus.” She glanced up at him, smiling despite his acidic tone. She looked lovely - the word radiant was frustratingly the descriptor that came to mind. This close, the scent of lavender and sunflower also mixed with her own. Sleekeazy’s, no doubt, which explained how her hair was neatly braided into a crown and not everywhere else. She had a slight blush, as though embarrassed to have been caught sneaking away to read, which was thoroughly disarming. “Do you think we can leave soon?”

He studied her for a second. “I think the traditional activity is to celebrate the wedding with our guests - but if you’d rather leave, I suppose I could arrange it”

She raised an eyebrow in parody of his usual gesture. Instead of offering a reply she slipped a bookmark in between the pages - it was the novel he’d given her, he noted with a thrum of pleasure - and stood up.

“If you insist, I suppose I can return to them. For half an hour - no more.”

He scrubbed at his eyes, suddenly realising exactly how much he wanted to squirrel away from the party. He searched for a way out of doing exactly what he’d just teased Hermione for hiding from. “I really didn’t mean… What about your book? I wouldn’t want them to think I had already bored you.”

She smiled again, her face lighting up and her eyes twinkling with joy. With a twirl of her hand and a word that was definitely not Latin - sekuru - the book seemed to vanish.

Severus frowned. “Where-”

She tapped her wrist, where a charm bracelet rested gently. The chain was silver, and a solitary, miniature blue book hung from it. “That is…” He brought her arm up to his gaze, studying the little metal charm, unmindful of the fact that he was touching her, too fascinated to be afraid of her reaction. “A spell of your own making, I take it?”

She nodded, blushing again. “I have found it necessary on several occasions to secrete books so that certain persons do not try and take them away from me. I, ah…” She pulled gently and he released his grip, regretting the loss. “I might be slightly addicted.”

He grinned then, his usual, barefaced, full-teeth grin. The twenty minutes he’d spent contourting his face earlier in the day in front of a mirror, trying to make it less frightful, completely forgotten in the face of pure and unadulterated delight. “I’m impressed. It’s stunning charm and transfiguration work. Have you considered writing a piece on it? I’m sure Flitwick would love to try it out.”

Their footsteps followed the path, slowly moving back to the party as Seveurs spoke.

“Ah… no, not on this particular spell. But I have been working on-”

“Hermione!” A voice called as they exited the maze, and a moment later the youngest Weasley stood before them. “I thought I’d come say goodbye. Harry and I know you hate these things so…” Ginny hesitated, her eyes glancing to Severus’ before continuing. “Thank you for inviting us. And… ah… good luck, both of you.”

“Thank you Ginny.” Hermione embraced her friend. “Nothing will change between us, right?”

Ginny gulped. “No,” she said, her gaze darting to Severus and back to face forward again, her expression unreadable. “No, of course not. I really have got to go now.”

Giving Hermione another quick squeeze, she scurried off, blending back into the herd of redheads congregating around the canape table. Severus took the moment to study the guests, who all seemed to be having a passable time now that the alcohol had opened up. No sign of Fredrick or Francis or whatever the ministry official had been called. He rolled his eyes and turned back to Hermione, only to find her back in the maze, pushed closely against the hedge.

“Herm-”

She raised a finger to her lips, her face blotchy. She was blinking far more frequently than she had previously, he noticed, and she was clutching her wrists with white hands.

He moved to go to her side, but she held up her hand. And then he heard it. “Well, I think she’s finally met her match.” Lavender was saying. “Perhaps it will work out, Ronnikins. They’re both as stubborn and fridgid as each other. They’d rather hump books, I bet you anything. Oh, do stop sulking. You turned her down, remember?”

The frizz of brown hair was gaining a blue tint as he watched, and he realised that it was her anger made manifest. Somehow, seeing her reaction kept his in check, although when his fingers twitched he realised that he was clutching his wand, ready to blast the damn bush into pieces.

“Hermione?” Potter called out. “Are you around?”

At once the blue seemed to seep from her hair as her shoulders slumped. She looked at Severus with mute appeal.

Potter’s burst into their clearing. “Ah there you are, Ginny said you were back here.”

“I don’t think she wants to talk to you, Potter.” Severus said gleefully. It was about time she put the boy in his place.

“Hermione.” Potter was reaching out as he spoke. Severus batted it away and glared at the boy. “You can’t control who she talks to,” Potter snapped, his eyes narrowed.

“Harry. It has nothing to do with Severus controlling me. He’s telling the truth, I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Why the hell not?” Harry asked. “You say it’s nothing to do with him, but you’ve barely spoken to me since he proposed. What the hell did he say to turn you against from us?”

“Turn?” Severus winced at the volume and pitch of her tone - he would be surprised if any attendees didn’t hear the altercation. “Harry, you went behind my back and told my parents that I was getting married!”

“They deserved to know,” he pointed out, his jaw sticking out obstinately.

Severus took a careful step to the side and adjusted his grip on his wand.

“They did,” she agreed, her fists clenched. “And I deserved to be the one to tell them. We’d arranged it an hour before you went off on your stupid floo mission, Harry. You robbed me of the chance to tell them myself, made it seem like this big secret thing, like I was ashamed of it. Do you know how hard it has been to…” Her face flushed blotchy and she stopped mid rant as she noticed that the hedge had somehow grown a bit taller and was topped with brunette and ginger patches.

“Oh, like you told them about being cut up in the Ministry?”

Hermione made a strangled noise of rage. 

“I’m…” Potter ran his hand through his hair, making it stick up at angles from his forehead. “I’m sorry, Mione. That wasn’t fair. But you almost died.”

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, her face pale and her eyes flashing dangerously.

“Perhaps we ought to retire somewhere private,” Severus said smoothly, walking to her side and tucking her fist into the fold of his elbow. Hermione put up no resistance as he steered her away from the hedge, away from the food tables and slowly back to the archway they’d married under. He didn’t even feel the need to bait Potter in farewell: they left Harry standing there, his mouth gaping like a fish and stuttering apologies.

She squeezed his arm. “Let me just say do the rounds and grab my folks.” He made to release her, but she squeezed tighter around his bicep.

“Miss Granger,” he leaned down to murmur her in her ear. She shuddered, goosebumps chasing up her arms despite the weather. Noticing her discomfort, he angled away, keeping his voice low. It was a good reminder that he was losing himself in fantasies of married life, in pride at the way she’d managed not to lash out at Potter. This was a match of convenience for her, and he was determined to be damned well inconvenienced by it. It was then that he spotted Francis. “There is something I must do before we leave as well.”

“Can’t we do them both together?” She countered.

A sigh erupted from Severus and he fought the urge to pinch his nose. “Surely you are not so afraid of the people who have raised you for the first twelve years.” He stopped walking and caught her eye, tugging her around to face him. He cast a non-verbal Muffliato. “You do realise you have been standing in direct opposition to the Dark Lord for most of your childhood? They cannot possibly have his skills.”

She blushed and caught her lower lip, toying with it. “You may think so,” she conceded. “But they have been so cold this last week. I don’t know, they seem to think I ought to give up magic rather than give in to the Ministry. I… I don’t want them to be ashamed of me, Severus, but I can’t tell them anything.” It seemed the witch was having a much easier time using his name than he was hers. She took a deep breath, which made the dress rise up in ways that Severus was definitely not noticing, and puffed it out. “Harry was right, I haven’t told them what happened at the Ministry, just that Harry lost Sirius.” She darted her gaze around guiltily. “In first year, after the incident with Fluffy…”

Severus’ lip curled. “Are you telling me that you haven’t told your parents anything about the Petrification incident, or being a human-sized cat, or threatened by a werewolf?”

She bit her lip again and shook her head. “They were going to pull me out of school! Dumbledore lied when he took me home after second year. He didn’t want them to know about the Polyjuice incident because he thought they would follow through with their threats, and the warning was clear enough then.”

No wonder the Grangers were so confused by their daughter’s marrying an old teacher. For them, there was no war. He wasn’t protecting her with his proposal, he was only threatening her future happiness for decades, especially given how long wizard’s lived.

Suddenly Potter’s insistence on telling her parents made sense to Severus in a way it had previously not. Not that it was forgivable.

“Would you have told them we were getting married?” he asked softly. She blinked up at him. His heart squeezed painfully.

“Yes, of course. But I wouldn’t have explained about the stupid Marriage Law. Now they think they can persuade me out of it, whereas if I’d admitted to being head-over-heels about you they would have been supportive. Ish.” She paused and frowned up at him. “I don’t want to play this game. I can’t go back and tell them before Harry did, so asking that question is unhelpful.”

He knew it was. He knew it was manipulative, trying to get her to admit that she at least didn’t find him wholly repulsive, something to hide from her parents like the sham their marriage was. He even felt ashamed of stringing her along under false pretences, the same way he’d done with Lily many times all those years ago.

But the tight band that seemed to have taken up permanent residence around his chest had eased a little.

“Come on,” she said, recovering herself. “Let’s run your errand first, and then we can take my folks home by way of escape.”

“They could just take public transport,” he pointed out, cancelling the Muffliato and turning back towards the Ministry Official, who was currently loading a paper plate with cold cuts of meat. “We’re still technically in London.”

“Severus!” She playfully raised her hand to bop him on the shoulder, and he knew it was playful, he did. He flinched away by instinct, disguising it as smoothly turning her to avoid a flower arrangement. This was going to be a problem. She hadn’t noticed. At least he hoped she hadn’t. “You know they’ll need to take a train in, to catch the DLR, to then get onto the tube proper. You can’t pretend you know nothing about London, or about Muggle transportation. It’ll take them over 4 hours!” 

He did not know the Underground as she did, that was for certain. Whenever he needed to get anywhere via the Muggle means he used a charmed underground map he’d made when he was fifteen. It took input and output stations and told you exactly which trains to get, removing from him the bother of needing to learn any of it.

They had gained the buffet table now, which was still, despite Ginny’s warning, swarmed by Weasleys. Severus firmly grabbed Francis’ shoulder and pulled him gently away from the onlookers - and the potato salad.

“I don’t believe you have quite earned that yet.”

“Ah, Severus. Congratulations to both of you.”

He nodded at Hermione, who tilted her head like a confused bird as she darted between glancing at us both.

“Discreetly.” Severus cautioned again.

The man swallowed and put his plate down on a vase, wiping his hands down the front of his cloak. Delightful. He rummaged through his pockets, turning each one inside out and putting it back the right way out again Hermione glanced at Severus from the side of her eyes, a glance that spoke of amusement and shared confidences.

Severus allowed his lips to twitch, but nothing more. He couldn’t risk alienating the man, not when he needed him to keep this gossip to himself.

Finally, the man found his wand. He sighed, straightened up and grinned at the pair. 

There was no ceremony, no time to explain anything to Hermione - the officiant, as soon as he had purchase on his wand, was already casting “Fidelius,”. The wand almost brought his coat along with it as it span in an intricate spiral, starting at Severus’ right hand and working its way up to his heart. Then he tapped it towards Hermione, like he was removing a tip of water from the end, and it was done.

“Severus?” Hermione asked, glancing between the two of them. 

Severus smiled and patted her arm. “There, dear. It’s all arranged as you asked.”

She picked up on his meaning immediately, smiled beautifically at Francis as he returned to the potatoes, but Severus could feel her vibrating at his side with unasked questions.

“Look,” he said, grasping her shoulders and turning her towards the table. They would need to talk about the charm later, of course, but not here. Not surrounded by this many gossips. “Your father is there.”

Hermione’s father wasn’t hard to spot, as he was taller than the other guests by six inches or so, even taller than Severus was. His face was contorting into a scowl as he listened to Molly explaining something or other.

“Oh dear,” Hermione rushed towards the pair. “Who knows what she’s saying to him.”

Severus followed her, his longer stride allowing him to keep up with her without chasing. Or running . Even as a married man he deserved some dignity.

“How dare you?” Hermione’s father yelled, just as they almost reached the pair.

Severus winced. If the question was directed towards himself, then his answer was short and honest - he had no idea how he had dared to ask such a beautiful woman to share her life with him, but she had been in a bit of a bind at the time. Oh, and one of the most evil men of the last century had demanded it of him.

“Mr Granger,” Molly’s scandalised voice rose too. “I am merely telling you these things as a friend.” She lay a hand on the man’s arm as though to calm him. He batted it away.

“Woman, no friend of mine would make such disgusting hints about my daughter. I am quite done with this conversation. My daughter worked hard for her grades in every subject, and if she beat your son every year, I can only say bully for her. Whatever this is between the two of them, I’m sure it would have started after she had finished Professor Snape’s courses. The Granger’s are an honest family, a hardworking family.”

“Papa,” Hermione said, coming to stand beside her father.

Molly harrumphed and span on her heel, three charmed prosecco glasses following her. From her gait, Severus was willing to bet that she had already consumed four times that number.

“Papa, thank you,” Hermione’s voice was thick as she slid into her father’s arms.

“Yes, well.” He awkwardly patted the tearful girl on the shoulder and pulled her back to look into her face, in a similar motion that Severus had himself employed earlier. Mr Granger tapped her on the chin. “Nobody talks about my girl like that. I know the truth, I’ve watched you study til I thought your eyes would bleed. Everybody knows you’d never jeopardize your future.”

Hermione sniffled and squeezed her arms around the man, before taking a step back.

“That’s not to say,” he continued. “That I think you’re doing the right thing, marrying one another.” Severus’ insides squirmed at being dragged into the family debate. “But as long as you’re happy, that’s the best outcome. It’s a shame you’ve opened us up to speculation from the likes of her, especially after the stories we told you, but… Well, what’s done is done.”

Severus made a mental note to ask Hermione just what stories her father had told her as they embraced again. Unexpectedly, the man reached out to pat him on the back.

Severus’ wand was drawn before he even thought about it, although he managed to retain enough icy control to not cast anything. The move was a friendly gesture, he had suffered enough of this type of hug in his youth. Mr Granger was hardly going to start beating him up here, after the wedding. Even if Severus had given him enough reason to.

Discreetly he slid his wand up his sleeve, cursing himself for a fool.

“Papa…” Miss Granger said, braiding her fingers into his. “I would like to leave now. Would you like us to escort you via the Floo?”

“Yes please, honey.” He squeezed her hand briefly. “Let’s go grab your mother.”

Severus tailed the pair. He prodded at his chest with a long finger as he did so, like a tongue feeling out the dimensions of a cavity. He felt curiously surplus to requirements.


	11. Chapter 11

The train was vibrating as it charged northwards, and Severus' creaking joints were complaining. They’d only been on board for an hour, his lady wife and he, and already he was regretting their decision - his decision, really - to bow to her fears and take ground transportation.

Hermione had turned as white as a sheet when he’d suggested they fly there.

Severus planned to spend the train ride getting to know one another. He’d booked them a little compartment all of their very own, which had cost more than a pretty penny, and overlayed the existing privacy charm work with a Muffliato, only to have her pull out a large book before they'd even pulled out of the station.

He tapped his fingers on his knee, and then on the table. He stared with discontent out of the window. Finally, deciding that she wouldn't notice, he settled his eyes on his wife, leaning back onto the vibrating and uncomfortable chair.

She looked up as though she could feel the weight of his gaze, and smiled charmingly.

Insolence.

“Are you enjoying yourself?” she asked lightly, placing a torn slip of paper between the pages of the tome and turning her face up to his. Her fingers still stroked the edges of the pages as if desperate to dive back into them.

“No.” He tore his eyes and stared grumpily into the corner, aware that he was sulking, aware that he was doing it to get a rise out of her, but unable to curtail his reaction. “But it is at least passably better than our wedding.”

She laughed, a tinkling sound, and placed her hands primly together on top of her book. From the corner of his eye he could see she had her full attention fixed on him, her eyes serious and focused. With a twitch of his fingers his fringe fell down, shielding him partially from view.

“Why didn’t you invite any friends?” she asked after a while.

His lips quirked. “I did actually. I invited the Dark Lord.”

He glanced up from between his clumps of hair to see her mouth fall open, a startle splutter escaping it. “Did you really?”

“Yes.” He churlishly let the silence fall over the carriage. 

“Go on," she chided, her smile impish, and closed the book. “Explain it to me.”

He cast a stronger Muffliato over the first, making the air around them crackle softly. Hermione winced and massaged an ear - he’d forgotten that too many silencing charms at once on unattuned people could force your ears to pop. “Sorry," he said sheepishly. She waved away the apology. “It’s alri- It’s like talking underwater!”

“That’s how you know it’s working.”

“This is so strange.” She tilted her head, he assumed to force an ear to relieve the difference in pressure, and grinned up at him charmingly from her strange position.

“Yes, well…” He cleared his throat. “If the Dark Lord had been planning to use our wedding as the perfect means of attacking the collected members of the Order, then I would prefer to know in advance. He’d have found out where and when it was from the Ministry records anyway.” 

She twisted a curl around her finger as she considered this. Severus watched it spring back up as she released it, and then again as she reclaimed it, stretching it downwards.

“Nearly all members? Barely anyone was there. Most of our guests were Weasleys. I had invited Remus and Tonks, but…” The frown creasing her brows vanished, replaced by a gasp. “Oh.”

“Yes, exactly. We couldn’t have any more Order members take the risk, but we also couldn’t make it seem as though the Order thought an attack was coming.” He tried to stretch his long legs out to relieve the tension in his knees, but there was little space underneath the table and he jostled against her. She drew her legs up underneath her body and tapped at her lips as she thought.

“But if Voldemort had attacked us, we’d have been outnumbered. He would have come expecting all the Order there.”

“He didn’t want to use it.” Severus shrugged. “He assured me he had little interest in jeopardizing my position by using the information straight away, especially a ceremony where Potter would be protected by half of Wizarding Britain.” Her face didn’t clear. Severus sighed. “Nevertheless, each magical guest had a portkey pinned to them, courtesy of Shacklebolt. Anyone close to them was supposed to grab your parents or yourself at the first sight of trouble and whisk you away.”

Her expression grew thunderous as he spoke, her arms crossed against her chest. “Everybody else knew? Why the bloody hell didn’t you tell me?”

“Dumbledore didn’t-”

“I’m not asking Dumbledore.” Her jaw was tight as she spat the words out. 

Severus swallowed. “We didn’t want you distracted on your big day. And..." In for a penny, in for a pound. "It was thought that your acting skills might not be up to scratch.”

“Fuck you.” She threw the book open with a thump and pointedly started to take notes again. Severus was surprised the book didn't catch fire.

The train was skirting a lake, a blue expanse of water that twinkled merrily at the pair. Severus snarled at it. Unsurprisingly, he had already messed up his marriage. He couldn’t even decide whether it had been so very wrong to hide the fact - he’d been trying to protect her, after all, but…

But this was not a good omen for the rest of their lives.

“I ah…” He cleared his throat. “I apologise.”

She curled her nose but didn’t look up.

“In my defense I didn’t see you until you sprinted up the aisle. There was no way I could have told you anything.”

“You wouldn’t have anyway.” She turned the page, but her quill was stationary, hovering above the page. Her eyes fixed on one spot.

“Perhaps… But I’ve told you now.”

She looked up at him, then, seeming to weigh his worth.

Then she nodded and pushed the book away from her. “So where were the other Order members?”

“I have no idea.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “I don’t usually get told anything, to be truthful. It’s better that way.”

“Did you invite any other Death Eaters?” She asked, her eyes still studying him, but the question was flat, lacked its previous intrigue for her.

“No.” He made an impatient flick with his fingers, like chasing away water. “The few I like might have come, but since I didn’t really want them there it was unfair to issue an invitation.”

“I invited plenty of people I didn’t really want there."

“Yes.”

Silence seemed to seep into the carriage, and for a moment Severus was overcome with that tight pit of anxiety again, seeping into his stomach. Hermione relaxed, her body sagging against the chair as she stared out at the countryside. Her breath fogged up the window. But the atmosphere wasn't awful, wasn't heavy with judgement. It wasn't quite comfortable, either, but... Severus felt that he could stay there without desperately searching for things to say. There was a peace to the carriage, to being himself with her, that he'd never experienced before. 

Severus watched Hermione under his eyelashes with reverent curiousity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your lovely reviews! I haven't had time to go through them yet, but just know that they mean the world to me! They also provide significant encouragement for me to get on with finishing this story! At least there wasn't a long delay on this chapter :D 
> 
> Love  
> Anjanas


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